


The Masks We Wear

by sleepless_cryptid (fandom_food_bank)



Series: The Masks We Wear- a Hermitcraft AU [1]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate reality au, Dream SMP characters also show up/are mentioned for a hot sec in later chapters, F/M, Gaslighting, I promise it's not quite as dark as it looks, Implied Mind Rape, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Season 8! au, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, also my first ever fic in this fandom whoops, most ships are implied with exceptions, oh hey the Watchers show up in this series too, sassy hermits go brrr, separation of personas from real ppl, the hermits need a hug, this series is a lot darker than you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_food_bank/pseuds/sleepless_cryptid
Summary: “You were right. Someone’s hacked into Hermitcraft.”“Well, whoever’s hacked in must be incredibly skilled. We’ve downloaded only the best software to keep Hermitcraft safe, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”When Hermitcraft's security system is breached by shadowy forces, a mysterious new member joins their ranks, to increased glitches and unwelcome reminders of hidden pasts. As the season progresses, Xisuma, Doc, Grian, Mumbo and many more find themselves drawn unwillingly into their pasts........or is it all in their heads?Updates twice a week, with some exceptions! Feel free to leave suggestions and feedback in the comments, and enjoy!
Relationships: Grian/Mumbo Jumbo, Natalie Arnold/Viktor | Iskall85, Xisumavoid/Original Female Characters
Series: The Masks We Wear- a Hermitcraft AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188944
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

Staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window, the shimmering night sky almost seems more alluring without the day-to-day trappings of holo-graphic displays. The young woman in question removes the VR goggles she wears all day, resting her eyes for a moment to bask in the artificial light. To the public eye, Cyberverse monitoring is a predatory profession, a feudal monopoly run by robber-barons. Lauren doesn’t see it that way. She’s never been a fan of tradition, and ‘abusing’ her Master’s degree in AI manipulation to become…..dare she say it, a hacker - is further proof of that. Why shouldn’t she do so either? If the public won’t appreciate her talent, she’ll find her own use for it.

Sipping a mug of cinnamon tea, she settles into her comforter, settling into the novel on her holo-pad, at least until- “ _ **Scarlett-prince responded to your comment: ‘Any new jobs? I’m bored out of my mind’! Would you like to respond?”**_

Tracing her way onto the main Cyberverse page, Lauren scrolls down until she finds the post from earlier today. Opening her replier’s profile, she looks into his settings and finds a nondescript feed, consisting mainly of Minecraft building photographs, random vlogs and a few paragraphs of text scattered about. Good. He’s not a threat to her job, probably some nobody trolling the forums. Turning back to the actual comment, she reads it carefully.

_**Scarlett-prince: Well, there has been one server we’ve been trying to get a peek into, but it’s sealed shut. You up for the job?** _

_A-Lister: I’m listening. What’s the name?_

_**Scarlett-prince: A little Minecraft server known as Hermitcraft. Or, at least that’s what it started out as. It’s more VR than anything nowadays.** _

The name stops Lauren short in her tracks. She’d watch so many episodes back in high school, the sheer prowess of the server’s inhabitants drawing her into the digital allure of the Cyberverse. Biting back a grin, she lets her thumbs fly across the screen, conjuring a response in a flash of cream palettes.

_A-Lister: Oh, I have some experience. What do they do?_

**_Scarlett-prince: Traditional aspects, mostly. Redstone and building, the occasional command block mojo business, but for the most part, vanilla survival._ **

A brief pause, then another flash of green.

_**Scarlett-prince: If you’re not comfortable, that’s fine. I don’t mean any harm on the hermits, I just wanted to see the inner workings of such an awe-inspiring community.** _

_A-Lister: No, I get it, kid. I was a fan too once upon a time, got pretty far in building, never made it to redstone._

**Scarlett-prince: Okay. Oh, and one last thing, your avatar is still working, right? I heard it got infected…...and, well-**

_ A-Lister: Kid, I’m a professional Cyberverse monitor. I think I can reprogram a piece of fried AI. _

Behind the classic, cold-hearted snark, Lauren is a deeply sensitive person, even if she’ll never admit it. Avatars are far more than a holo-graphic body to steer around, they’re an extension of the host’s mind. Unbeknownst to the younger generation of the Cyberverse, the slightest network harm to an avatar could result in debilitating mental injuries to the host, a minor fainting session at best and a paralyzing stroke at worst.  More importantly, unlike the clunky, mechanical androids of the past, avatars are capable of developing independent personalities, more or less variations of their host, and sometimes forming further offshoots known as personas. These secondary AI are more or less pieces of fiction, entirely dependent on the original avatar to maintain their existence, although some attempt to establish independence.

Lauren’s avatar, being that of a monitor, was given no such mental liberties upon creation, and was simply used as a holographic vehicle for her host to traverse in. Had this been any other job, she would’ve sent her avatar in her current state, her true form displayed proudly.  With Hermitcraft, it was going to be different. Most members, from her past experience as an avid fangirl, deviated as far from their true appearance as possible, often choosing to paint a picture that matched their voice. Now that her avatar was mangled and in need of repairs, this  was the perfect opportunity to redesign her appearance, away from monitor standards.

_ A-Lister: I’m working on her right now. When do you want my avatar ready to deploy? _

**Scarlett-prince: Preferably by the end of the week. They’re starting a new season soon!**

_ A-Lister: Got it. Keep in contact with me kid, you might learn a thing or two. _

Closing the forum, Lauren opens her closet, reaching up for a single flat disc floating in the air. Her avatar stand, deactivated and in pristine condition.

Pressing a retina to the base, she watches as the device powers up, blossoming into a crystalline projection of blue light. In the cone rising from the center sits a projection of a young woman, near identical in appearance to herself, save for the arms in a sling, bandages wrapped around her torso and medical cap. Nodding gently to her creator, the avatar gave a weakened smile.

“Hi sis! Am I finally going to get that upgrade?”

Nodding at her clone, Lauren motioned gently with her hands. “Can you stand?”

“I’ll try.”

Rotating the holographic cot up into position, she swaps it for a body stand, a band gently cuffing the avatar’s waist. Zooming in on the hologram, Lauren examined the code shimmering around the vitals.  “You heal fast.”

“Of course I do. You created me, after all.”

Muttering a curse under her breath, Lauren takes out her stylus, tracing away the bandages and wiping away the bruises. Squinting gently, she lifted one lock of dark hair from the hologram’s face, who winced at the sudden contact.

“This won’t do. You look too much like me.”

Pressing her arms against her chest, the avatar let out a childish pout. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not anymore,” Lauren quips, switching her color palette. Selecting an ombre white with faint blue highlights, she transforms her clone’s hair from jet-black to stark white, her eyebrows practically vanishing into her skin. 

Then, there’s the matter of her clothes. Lauren had only made the avatar three outfits, most in varying shades of gray. Firstly, there was her standard outfit, a gray bodysuit with blue accents marking her monitor status as an assassin, then an outer layer of plastoid armor, its wires mangled, and finally, a plain black dress, still standing fully charged in the avatar’s tiny wardrobe. 

Casting her mind back to the appearance of the hermits, Lauren wasn’t satisfied. Something felt off.

_ The average player has a genuinely unique and iconic avatar, and all I’ve managed to produce is a pastel goth rendition of myself. _

Clearing out the black-and gray wardrobe, she sketches the first thing that comes to mind, a full leather bodysuit with a plethora of unlockable gadgets embedded into the sleeves and legs.  “Here. Try this on.”

Lauren’s clone frowns as she picks up the garment. “This looks more like a piece of hardware than actual clothing.”

“Well, what do you want me to dress you in? A frilly ball gown?”

“That’s up to you. I have no free will or personality, I couldn’t choose for you if I tried.”

Slamming the stylus against a desk, Lauren handed her a set of non-descript black clothing. “Fine. Put this on for now, you’ll pick something soon yourself.”

The avatar’s emerald eyes sparkle with joy, sitting back down on the cot. “So I’m finally getting a personality?”

“Yes. Be a good little avatar and maybe I won’t replace you.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, Lauren brushes the sweat from her brow, staring down at the digital DNA she’s woven. Sure, it took her the entire night, but she’s proud of her handiwork, like a mother after giving birth. Turning to her avatar, or Astrid, as she’s now named her, she taps her gently with a stylus.

“Wake up, sleepy-head.”

Astrid brushes her now-shoulder-length hair out of her face, the snowy locks cascading gracefully away from her face. “Hey sis. Did you fix me?”

“Of course! Top of the line now, Astrid.”

Blinking her violet eyes, Astrid bursts out into the sweetest smile Lauren’s seen her sport. “I have a name! My own name!”

Turning around, she spouts a sentence in Acadian French, then Mandarin, switching to Swahili halfway through a sentence. 

“Wait…..these new languages. They feel familiar. Do these have something to do with my new backstory?”

Lauren nods, smirking as her creation braids her hair back into a top-knot. “Hey, I’m not going to spoil everything for you. Did you pick a new outfit?”

The hologram raises two translucent brows, then gestures at the black clothes. “Oh, I fell asleep last night. Sorry.”

Pulling them on, she smiles as they transform into a sky-blue half-cape, a darker turtle-neck in the same color and grey high-waisted trousers. “Voila!”

Lauren resists the urge to punch the air as her avatar twirls perfectly around the sphere, so different from her own form. Her clone- no, Astrid, she’s her own person now, is her polar opposite, sun-kissed skin, snowy-haired, but most importantly, kind-hearted. More human than she’ll ever be.  Thinking back to her conversation with the client last night, Lauren can’t help but feel that it’s not her that’s going to be waltzing into Hermitcraft. Instead, it’s going to be this violet-eyed elf maid, winning over the hearts of her childhood idols, and a pang of jealousy threatens to pierce her.

_ Get it together. Frobisher. Be happy for her. _

  
  



	2. Among Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mumbo, Scar and friends do some last-minute research and uncover some disturbing details.

Glancing at the comatose Xisuma above them, Scar raises a brow. “Maybe we should wait until X is up, guys? This seems pretty important.”

“Scar, seriously?” Grian groans, face-palming dramatically. “You want to wait on this? I mean, sure, telling X is important, but he’s had a rough day. Come on, Mumbo, what did you find?”

Projecting the small screen in front of them, Mumbo moves the cursor towards the top. “More information on these monitor people, an identification guide of sorts.”

He zooms in on a particularly menacing image of an avatar clad head-to-toe in matte black, green accents forming strange symbols across their arms, legs, waist and mouth. 

“That’s a CGI rendition of what I think is their leader. None of them have names, just a single serial code and letter corresponding to their host.”

“What’s with the script crawling down their suits?” Iskall whispers, visibly recoiling from the screen. “It’s like seeing their programming exposed!”

“Gross!” Stress hisses, then turns to Mumbo. “What’s with the colored suits, though? Do they all wear green?”

“No, apparently there’s ranking,” Grian murmurs, scrolling down towards a complicated chart set in different colors. “White is for initiates, cyan is for apprentices, blue is for agents, turquoise is for assassins-”

“And green is for masters,” Mumbo finishes, scrolling down further. “These guys are professional hackers, the secret police of the Cyberverse. They’re normally dispatched to deal with virus-breeders, cult-leaders and cyber-criminals. What would they want with us?”

“These aren’t just the online police, Mumbo,” Scar interrupts, pointing at a small blurb towards the end of the article. “These monitors are total sociopaths. They break into highly encrypted servers for sport, to catch people off guard and harvest their personal information. What kind of madmen invade people’s privacy in the name of fun?”

“No wonder X got so scared,” Grian muses, his strawberry blond hair glinting in the artificial light. “Did he have a run-in with these guys?”

Stress shakes her head in disbelief. “These fellas clearly have a reputation. Just hearing about them would make anyone’s skin crawl!”

“So what do we do, then?” Scar asks, glancing nervously across the room, where the five-way argument continues to rage. “There’s no way I’m letting some faceless ninja expose me to the world, or anyone else!”

Closing his communicator, Mumbo turns against the wall. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. No one’s ever gotten close enough to a monitor, let alone survive an encounter.”

Iskall slumps forwards, rubbing his cybernetic eye. “Great. We’re obsessing over some shadowy nobody who we haven’t even seen, let alone identified.”

“Pretty much,” Grian responds. “Maybe Doc was right. Maybe this is something out of our control, that we should just-”

Clearing his throat gently, Mumbo projects the time against a wall, startling the others out of their reverie. “Guys, it’s 11:00. We’ve been fixating on this one article for three hours straight. Let’s just wait until the morning, tell the others and…….come up with something then?”

“Fine. I'll go to bed. Like a child,” Grian calls, climbing into a bunk across from him, much to the amusement of the other hermits. 

Shaking his head, Mumbo shoots him a tired smile. “Love you too, mate.” Turning to Stress, Scar and Iskall, who’re still grinning, he groans. “Oh come on, I'm younger than him! I mean….I don’t, well…..”

He trails off awkwardly and Scar gives him a knowing pat on the head, yawning as he finds a free bunk. “Grian's got a point. Maybe this’ll all blow over by tomorrow.”

Stress and Iskall move away too, two brunette heads fading into the darkness, pressed softly against one another as Mumbo falls asleep, plummeting deep into dreamland.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s 5:00 AM when Lauren manages to forge a connection with the antique server, sweat pouring from every orifice as her vastly outdated laptop struggles to render the sophisticated technology. Calling her contact, her voice is almost giddy with excitement as she speaks.

“A?”

“Kid, I got us a one-way pass into Hermitcraft. I’ll introduce myself tomorrow!”

“Be careful though. I did my research, and from what I got, I don’t think the average server is gonna like a random contact crashing into their private community.”

“Relax, kid. I do this for a living. Why the hell would you think they’d like me anyways? I’m a monitor, everyone thinks I’m a virtual Nazi either way.”

Cutting the call short, she finds the new world on her Cyberverse connection, deploying her avatar as she waits for the settings to load in.

“Keep me on comms at all times.”

The avatar gives her a thumbs up, locking into battle position as she prepares to enter. “Relax, sis. I’ve practiced this landing sequence, like, a hundred times. Have a little faith in me, will you?”

There’s a bright flash of light, and all of a sudden, Lauren is seeing a cubic, retro landscape, set to dawn. She presses the shift keys, and she can see a brief image of Astrid, moving herself along jerkily.

“Turn on experimental behaviour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter than the last but I promise the action picks up soon! Let me know what you thought about the group dynamics in the comments


	3. Into The Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mumbo, Scar and friends do some last-minute research and uncover some disturbing details.

Glancing at the comatose Xisuma above them, Scar raises a brow. “Maybe we should wait until X is up, guys? This seems pretty important.”

“Scar, seriously?” Grian groans, face-palming dramatically. “You want to wait on this? I mean, sure, telling X is important, but he’s had a rough day. Come on, Mumbo, what did you find?”

Projecting the small screen in front of them, Mumbo moves the cursor towards the top. “More information on these monitor people, an identification guide of sorts.”

He zooms in on a particularly menacing image of an avatar clad head-to-toe in matte black, green accents forming strange symbols across their arms, legs, waist and mouth. 

“That’s a CGI rendition of what I think is their leader. None of them have names, just a single serial code and letter corresponding to their host.”

“What’s with the script crawling down their suits?” Iskall whispers, visibly recoiling from the screen. “It’s like seeing their programming exposed!”

“Gross!” Stress hisses, then turns to Mumbo. “What’s with the colored suits, though? Do they all wear green?”

“No, apparently there’s ranking,” Grian murmurs, scrolling down towards a complicated chart set in different colors. “White is for initiates, cyan is for apprentices, blue is for agents, turquoise is for assassins-”

“And green is for masters,” Mumbo finishes, scrolling down further. “These guys are professional hackers, the secret police of the Cyberverse. They’re normally dispatched to deal with virus-breeders, cult-leaders and cyber-criminals. What would they want with us?”

“These aren’t just the online police, Mumbo,” Scar interrupts, pointing at a small blurb towards the end of the article. “These monitors are total sociopaths. They break into highly encrypted servers for sport, to catch people off guard and harvest their personal information. What kind of madmen invade people’s privacy in the name of fun?”

“No wonder X got so scared,” Grian muses, his strawberry blond hair glinting in the artificial light. “Did he have a run-in with these guys?”

Stress shakes her head in disbelief. “These fellas clearly have a reputation. Just hearing about them would make anyone’s skin crawl!”

“So what do we do, then?” Scar asks, glancing nervously across the room, where the five-way argument was still going strong. “There’s no way I’m letting some faceless ninja expose me to the world, or anyone else!”

Closing his communicator, Mumbo turns against the wall. “We don’t know. No one’s ever gotten close enough to a monitor, let alone survive an encounter.”

Iskall slumps forwards, rubbing his cybernetic eye. “Great. We’re obsessing over some shadowy nobody who we haven’t even seen, let alone identified.”

“Pretty much,” Grian responds. “Maybe Doc was right. Maybe this is something out of our control, that we should just-”

Clearing his throat gently, Mumbo projects the time against a wall, startling the others out of their reverie. “Guys, it’s 11:00. We’ve been fixating on this one article for three hours straight. Let’s just wait until the morning, tell the others and…….come up with something then?”

“Fine. You’re such a killjoy!” Grian calls, climbing into a bunk across from him, much to the amusement of the other hermits. 

Shaking his head, Mumbo shoots him a tired smile. “Love you too, mate.” Turning to Stress, Scar and Iskall, who’re still grinning, he groans. “Oh come on, it wasn’t even true, guys! I mean….I don’t, well…..”

He trails off awkwardly and Scar gives him a knowing pat on the head, yawning as he finds a free bunk. “He’s not wrong, you know. Maybe this’ll all blow over by tomorrow.”

Stress and Iskall move away too, two brunette heads fading into the darkness, pressed softly against one another as Mumbo falls asleep, plummeting deep into dreamland.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s 5:00 AM when Lauren manages to forge a connection with the antique server, sweat pouring from every orifice as her vastly outdated laptop struggles to render the sophisticated technology. Calling her contact, her voice is almost giddy with excitement as she speaks.

“A?”

“Kid, I got us a one-way pass into Hermitcraft. I’ll introduce myself tomorrow!”

“Be careful though. I did my research, and from what I got, I don’t think the average server is gonna like a random contact crashing into their private community.”

“Relax, kid. I do this for a living. Why the hell would you think they’d like me anyways? I’m a monitor, everyone thinks I’m a virtual Nazi either way.”

Cutting the call short, she finds the new world on her Cyberverse connection, deploying her avatar as she waits for the settings to load in.

“This is your moment, Astrid. Keep me on comms at all times.”

The avatar gives her a thumbs up, locking into battle position as she prepares to enter. “Relax, sis. I’ve practiced this landing sequence, like, a hundred times. Have a little faith in me, will you?”

There’s a bright flash of light, and all of a sudden, Lauren is seeing a cubic, retro landscape, set to dawn. She presses the shift keys, and she can see a brief image of Astrid, moving herself along jerkily.

“Turn on experimental behaviour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter than the last but I promise the action picks up soon! Let me know what you thought about the group dynamics in the comments


	4. The Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grian, Mumbo and Scar get wind of the security breach, X has a bit of an existential crisis. Just your average day in the Cyberverse.

A million bytes away, in a completely different part of the Cyberverse, a rustic house, specifically, paces a diminutive strawberry-blond man, throwing a spruce slab from hand to hand. Beside him, his two humanoid companions watch in exasperation.

“I’m so bored! Why won’t he use me? I’ve been dying to build something for weeks!”

On his right, what looks like a clone of the first man twirled around with his arms, settling back against the couch. “Well, Grian, at least your host likes you. You don’t even come back to see us unless you’re in stasis! Instead of intelligent companions, I’m stuck year round with this!”

The robotic character makes a mock-offended expression with his mechanical arm. “Well, it’s not like you’re pleasant company either. All NPC cares about is building rustic houses!”

NPC Grian’s eyes glow red, turning on his rival. “Excuse me? At least I’m not an egotistical maniac-”

“Hey, hey,” the builder exclaims, forcing apart his feuding creations, “I think I hear a click! Maybe we’re finally going to be activated-”

All three avatars step away from the rapidly expanding log table in the centre of the living room, the pale blue light enveloping the space. Smiling ear to ear, Grian saunters across the room, lowering a non-existent top hat.  “Well, it’s been fun, lads, but I gotta go. Unlike you two, I have places I need to be and friends I’d like to meet. Goodbye and good riddance!”

Stepping onto the platform, Grian stared into the spectacled face of his host, giving him a sarcastic salute.

“Hello there, Charlie! Thought you’d forgotten about me! You know, you really shouldn’t keep me locked in there with those two maniacs-”

“Grian, you made both of them.”

“Oh come on! NPC was a mistake, and Robot was an even bigger mistake made to fix the original mistake! Please, spare me the-”

“Well then, if you’re going to be like this today, maybe I’ll send you back.”

The impish character’s amber eyes widened in fear, clasping his hands to his cheeks. “No, no, no, okay, I’ll shut up! For the love of tea, please don’t send me back to that world!”

“First things first: do you want the good or bad news?”

“Bad news, please.”

“You have to wear a blue jumper.”

“What?” the diminutive builder shrieks, pulling at his sweater. “No! I said I’m only doing it once, and never again. Just send me back to those two robotic goons.”

“Relax, G, I’m just pulling your leg. You’re easier to scare than I remember.”

“Oh shut up! The good news better be phenomenal or I’m leaving.”

“Hermitcraft Season 8 is starting tomorrow. I thought I’d give you a run-down ahead of time.”

A brief pause, then a bitter snort. “You just had to wait until the last second to rescue me, didn’t you?”

  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in a neighboring network, another AI was fast asleep, leaning against a counter. Well, really it was more of a coma, the mustached avatar couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake- 

Wait…..he was awake?  Stumbling towards the pale blue cone, he brushes his dark hair out of his eyes, trying his best to conceal the fact that he’d just been asleep for God knows how long. 

“Well, morning Oliver!”

His host gives him a tired smile, waving at him as he stumbled into a generated chair. “Morning to you two, Mumbo. Glad to see you!”

“Wait…...how long was I asleep for?”

“Oh, just the night. I had you doing some overnight AFK-ing at a new test farm, seems like everything’s working fine.”

Well, that explains a lot, like the fact that he was asleep in his suit, and the fact that he was coated in redstone. He should know himself better. 

“So, what’s up?”

“Oh, Hermitcraft: Season 8 is starting tomorrow! Should’ve given you a run-down yesterday, but I forgot! Oh well, never too late to start.”

As his host chattered on and on about the intricacies of the upcoming season, Mumbo can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation, his mind already forming new ideas for better, stronger contraptions. 

_ Season 8 won’t know what hit it by the end of today.  _

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in the newest map of Hermitcraft, Xisuma sits in an invisible booth, flicking levers with rapidly increasing anxiety, speaking with his host. 

“You were right. Someone’s hacked into Hermitcraft.”

“Hacked Hermitcraft?” his host responds, shaking his head. “I swore I just encrypted a new set of protection in!”

“No, would you listen?. I think we’re reacting towards the wrong things.”

“X, can you elaborate?”

“Well, whoever’s hacked in must be incredibly skilled. We’ve downloaded only the best software to keep Hermitcraft safe, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

He pauses, sensing the tension from his host. “Besides, I checked the rest of the system. There’s no trace of malware or viruses, just the fact that the server is now open to the public…...for five minutes.”

“Well, that’s not as bad as it could’ve been. At least the encryption is still intact.”

“No, boss, there’s the whole…….fan business. That’s what I’m worried about.”

A crackling pause, and X can feel his host crumpling in on himself. “Oh…………..”

“What I’m thinking then, is that we start the season early. Everything else is in place, right?”

“Pretty much. We’ve got a bit of a problem, though.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“By the time everyone spawns in, it’s going to be night.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Woken from his nap, GoodTimesWithScar doesn’t bother with checking the caller as he stumbles towards his loudly buzzing communicator. Picking up Jelli, who lets out a confused meow, he picks up without a hitch.

“Hello?”

“Scar, it’s me.” 

The mellow, British tenor is unmistakable. What would Xisuma want with him?

“Oh, morning X! What brings you to Casa Scar and Jelli at such an ungodly hour?”

“Well, you’re the only one who picked up. I called Mumbo, reached voicemail, Stress was sound asleep and there was screaming on Grian’s end...so I hung up.”

Biting back a chuckle, Scar remembers the last time he’d visited Grian. The pair had been playing Build Swap when Scar, searching for the washroom in his friend’s maze of a house, accidentally opened the closet containing his robotic creations, specifically the slightly deranged NPC Grian. 

“Oh, that was probably NPC. He gets a little…..emotional.”

“I’m not going to ask who that is.”

“Anyways, you didn’t call me just to reminiscence about the good old days, did you? Something’s gone wrong.”

A bit of radio silence, then a somber response. “Someone’s hacked into Hermitcraft. We don’t know how, but there’s no visible damage.”

“That’s weird. There’s one other problem, though, and it’s not what you think.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, X! What is it?”

“The fanbase.”

“What?”

More crackling as Xisuma continued to speak. “The server’s been made public by some unholy miracle, which means we might have some…….unexpected guests.”

“Oh the fanbase? You can handle this, man, we believe in you!”

“Scar, would you listen? I know this sounds like a prank call, but-”

“I’ll see what I can do, get my host to send out some announcements on social media,” Scar muses, scratching Jelli behind the ears. “But unless you need anything else, I’ll see you this afternoon. Bye X!”

“Wait, Scar, that’s not what I-”

Hanging up, Scar trods into the washroom, humming gently to himself as he goes. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


_ Three hours later… _

Raising his visor, Xisuma gazes proudly around the makeshift bunker he’s built. Digging underground, he’s cleared out a general space, stocked with the usual first day supplies, boats, a bit of bread, and then some. More importantly, he’s taken the liberty of adding some bunks at one end of the bunker, just in case the situation gets worse than expected.  Settling onto a lower bunk, he comms in to his host, the Englishman picking up sooner than expected.

“Hey X.”

“Well, I finished it. Took me a week in-game, but we’re good to go. Even managed to grab some obsidian from a nearby ocean ruin and put together a nether portal.”

Xisuma tries his best to sound like the busy bee he is, lightening his tone more than he should, circling around the bunker as he speaks, but his host sees right through.

“Xisumavoid, you don’t have to do all this. You’ve taken care of this server since season 2, you’ve done everything you can to keep this family safe-”

“What if it’s not enough?” X’s voice nearly cracks, his calm demeanor crumpling like a sheet of wax. “I’ve played it cool all morning, but the fact is still there, brother. Someone’s hacked in, we have no idea who it is and what they could do! If the other hermits are hurt because of my carelessness, I-”

He trails off, forcing the pain from his programming.

“I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Neither do I, X,” his host’s voice returns, aching just as much as his own. “Guess we’ll have to make things up as we go?”

“It’s Hermitcraft. I thought that was a given.”

Standing up, he polishes the stone sword he’s hewn together gently, running a gloved hand across the splintered hilt. 

“Thank you, brother. I know you’re technically my creator, but-”

“It’s what I should do. I brought you into existence, didn’t I? No matter what happens, just know that I’ll be by your side, every step of the way.”

Climbing up the ladder, making his way to the sandy surface, Xisuma pulls down his mask, a grim smile gracing his slender features. 


	5. A New Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 8 begins and problems begin appearing like termites in rotting wood. Oh, and Xisuma deals with a bit of casual survivor's guilt, no biggie.

When entering the new world, Mumbo takes care to land with one hand facing down, staying on his feet as a result. The serene calm of the fading sunset in the distance doesn’t last for long, as he picks up on the signature, hollow clanking of a skeleton, its bow no doubt drawn.  Scrambling around him, Mumbo’s hands find purchase on the handle of a trapdoor, and he’s never been so grateful to be heading underground, moving farther away from the hostile surface. 

“What happened?”

“Hackers,” a mellow tenor echoes from across the room, coming from a bunk bed. Squinting into the darkness, Mumbo makes out a mask, glowing faintly in the dark.

“X, what? How?” the redstoner splutters, trying and failing to take a seat beside his friend.

“I don’t know, my host doesn’t know. The server’s now public, but worst of all…..there’s a new, unlisted member trying to get in.”

Opening the Hermitcraft network, Mumbo scrolls through the lists of hermits. “Bdubs, Doc, False, Cleo, Iskall and…...wait, is this the one you’re looking for? The member with a black screen and an initial for a username?”

Xisuma’s violet eyes darken as he focuses on the new profile. “There’s only two possible ways a member could have a black profile. It’s either a glitch or a….a….”

The admin trails off, the turmoil running across his face all but obscured by the tinted visor. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Mumbo gazes nervously at his companion.

“Or what?”

“A monitor.”

Mumbo’s mind goes blank as he begins scouring his code for any semblance of such a term. “What’s a monitor? All I’m getting are computer suggestions and other rubbish-”

“No, sorry, I should’ve specified. Cyberverse monitors. They infiltrate any server they can and traffic information to the general public. I don’t know what this one is after.”

“Well, have you checked for any glitches or malware?”

“The system is clean for the most part, except for the timing bug and the privacy status.” 

X pauses for a moment, toying with his hands. “I know there’s nothing wrong at the moment, but I can’t help but feel that something’s off, even though we’re only avatars and extensions of our hosts-”

“You’re not alone,” Mumbo interrupts, wrapping his arm tighter around the admin’s shoulders. “I feel it too, like there’s something rotten, hidden away, ready to burst at any second.”

There’s a creak of a trapdoor, then a sharp gasp. “Oh my Notch. I’m such an idiot!”

The pair break apart, Mumbo’s arm landing sharply against the pole of a bunk. Staring into olive eyes, he raises a brow at the American. 

“Scar?”

“Xisuma called me this morning, he was trying to tell me something, and then I got ahead of myself and hung up on him! He was gonna get me to warn you guys, but I didn’t understand!”

“What on earth are you guys talking about?” a female voice responds, and there’s the familiar thud of combat boots as False climbs down behind him. “I just arrived, and the first thing I bump into is Scar rambling into a hole.”

“False, did you say- oh,” a Cockney accent chimes in, and the brunette head of Stressmonster appears in the distance. “Mumbo? X? Does this have something to do with the missed call I had this morning?”

Sighing, Mumbo opens the trapdoor, and the newly arrived hermits clamber down into the bunker. “Hold on, let’s all get to safety before we start asking questions. Xisuma’s had a rough day and-”

“What in Queen Elizabeth’s shiny crown is this?” an all-too familiar voice exclaims dramatically, and False opens the trapdoor, turning to the smaller hermit.

“Ask Mumbo or Scar.”

Wiping a handful of gunpowder from his fringe, the builder makes a beeline straight for his best friend, and Mumbo braces himself for a barrage of questions.

“Hey G.”

“Hey, mate. Mumbo, care to tell me what’s going on?”

Running his hand through his own hair, the man in question stumbles through his words, his voice increasing drastically in tone.

“Uh, Gri, really, it’s a long story, there’s a lot that’s happened, and you know me, never can collect myself on time and-”

As he continues to ramble, Mumbo can’t help but notice his friend’s amber eyes expanding, honeyed brows narrowing closer and closer together, and all of a sudden, he breaks out into laughter.

“What did I expect when I came to you, Mumbo? Take your time, dude, I’m all ears.”

Collecting himself, Mumbo draws a sharp breath. “Hermitcraft’s been hacked, mate. X doesn’t know who’s done it, but the server is now public. That’s all he’d tell me.”

Turning towards the smaller hermit, he notices his best friend with his head in his hands, almost talking to himself. No matter how many times he’s seen it, seeing Grian without his signature playful demeanor is unnerving-

_ Almost as if it’s someone else.  _

Brushing the thought away, he taps the blanket beside his friend, drawing his attention back. “G? Is everything alright?”

Amber eyes meet mahogany, and hints of the builder’s trademark smirk make their way back onto his face. “Better than usual. Is everyone else here?”

Stress speaks up, her voice shaking slightly. “I think I heard someone land. Do you want me to check?”

The trapdoor opens once more, and Doc climbs down silently, his expression stern as a creeper can get. “Etho and Tango are behind me, Wels, Zedaph and a few others said the lag was slowing down the journey. Something is afoot, isn’t it?”

“Hold on,” Scar interjects, holding up a hand. “I had lag issues too when coming here! Is this part of the whole hacking debacle?”

At the mention of the security breach, the rest of the hermits break out into a chorus of arguments, interrogation and frustration. Watching from his end of the room, Mumbo turns to Xisuma, who’s curled up in his bunk. 

“X, should I-”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Everyone, for Xisuma’s sake, stay calm! One at a time, if you must.”

Grumbling amongst themselves, the handful of hermits present settle into the bunks, rooting through the neatly packed survival kits. The silence that’s settled into the earthen space is stifling, an invisible claw clamping the liveliest hermits silent.  Eventually, it's Tango who breaks the tension between them, placing a question in a hollow rasp of a voice Mumbo barely recognizes. 

“So we’ve been hacked?”

Xisuma looks up from his gloves, which he’s been fiddling with absentmindedly for the next bit. “Yeah. More importantly, we’ve got company.”

Nervous chuckling ensues as whispering resumes between the others, and Mumbo continues, forcing his mind to settle back into the present. 

“I checked the member list, and we have an unidentified user, with a black screen. From what X told me, it means they’re a monitor.”

“So we have an intruder?” False remarks, ever the pragmatist. 

“Or, in other words, there is an impostor among us!” Grian confirms, trying and failing to lighten the mood. Nevertheless, the latter’s playful comment sparks a smile or two as the tension slowly lifts. 

“So what Grian said. We’re hoping we can close the firewall before they can access any information, but there’s no guarantees.”

“The lag is still ongoing,” Etho joins in, gesturing towards the trapdoor. “What if we close it too early or late? What about the rest of the hermits?”

At this exclamation, someone from Team ZIT, Mumbo can’t tell who, breaks into a string of obscenities and the clamor across the room is deafening. Through the cluster of arguing hermits, he can make out two figures edging away, one with a cybernetic eye and the other clad in a purple bathrobe. 

“Hullo Scar, Iskall. I’m afraid I’ve made things worse, haven’t I?”

The Swede shrugs, taking a seat beside his friends. “Mumbo, you only found out this morning. With Xisuma asleep, I say you’re our best bet at a voice of reason.”

“Iskall’s right,” Scar continues, pulling his legs closer to himself. “It’s been nothing but utter chaos, and you’re doing the best we can.”

“No, it’s not that part. In my efforts to stay out of the kerfuffle, I…...did some research.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, thoughts and comments now that we've got the main plot going? The monitors are a background feature in the meantime but I promise you guys will get a backstory on these guys as a separate fic. More plot coming soon!
> 
> \- Cryptid


	6. The Edge Of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xisuma is a derp, Team ZIT and Grian make some questionable life choices and Doc is straight-up not vibing.

Xisuma wakes up the next morning to the sound of waves rushing above him, and the distinct sounds of someone sawing and hammering wood. Leaping lightly out of bed, he climbs the ladder leading out of the bunker swiftly, and is faced with…………...a girl?

“Argh- who the hell are you?”

The girl, whose hair is so bright it nearly blinds him, turns around from the item she’s crafting, a roughly hewn wooden pickaxe. Leaning against the crafting table, her magenta eyes arrange themself into an imposing stare, equal parts playful and dangerous.

“Who are you?”

Her voice is unlike anything he’s heard before, childish and light, yet there’s a hint of arrogant malice lying underneath. It’s the kind of voice you hear in nightmares, yet he can’t seem to turn away. Before he can stop himself, he’s opening his mouth, and the words are tumbling through against his own will.

“My name’s Xisuma. How the hell did you get into Hermitcraft?”

At the mention of the server, the girl - whose hair, he now realizes, is the brightest shade of white he’s ever seen, collapses, staring at her surroundings.

“Wait - that’s where I am? The last thing I remember was being forcibly ripped from…….somewhere, I can’t remember what it was.”

She edges away from him, picking up the crafting table, pulling out her communicator. “Look, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude, this is clearly a private server. I’ll show myself out, and you’ll never see hide or hair-”

And just like that, as she’s turning away, flustered, lost and confused, that’s where the spell breaks. She’s just another lost traveller, probably unfamiliar with the Cyberverse, and there’s this pull inside of him, to grab her arm, tug her back, to have her stay.

“No, it’s, it’s okay! You can stay, well, at least until you can find your way back.”

She turns towards the admin, and he can practically feel her emotions seeping out, confusion, gratitude, an entire range of emotions playing across her face. 

“Are you sure? I don’t mean to be a burden, I can-”

“Look, why don’t you join my friends and I down in our bunker…...what’s your name?”

“Astrid.” The word erupts from her mouth, and suddenly, as if spoken into existence, a name tag appears above her head, faint and barely noticeable. It read “Astrid_builds”. 

“Yeah, why don’t you join us, Astrid? We can get you some supplies, somewhere to get started, at least until you can figure out how to get back.”

“Oh, that’d be fantastic!” She shoulders her pickaxe and climbs down the ladder, the crafting table all but forgotten.

As the pair settle back into the bunker, the noise nearby rouses a half-asleep Impulse, who pokes his head out of the covers. 

“Hey X, how’s the fresh- ah!”

Ren’s cry of surprise wakes up the entire bunker, and a chorus of complaining and questioning breaks out among the hermits. Sticking his head down from his own bunk, Doc frowns at his fellow hermits.

“Guys, cut it out. It’s 6:00 AM. Also who the hell is this?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Xisuma props his new friend in front of him awkwardly. “Doc, this is Astrid. Astrid, Doc.”

Turning aside to the redstoner, he shrugs his hands helplessly. “I heard something above the island this morning, and I found her making a pickaxe, trying to get off this island.”

“Wooden tools on an island with no trees?”

“Listen, I think Astrid has amnesia. She turned on me with survival instincts, and I was kind of hoping we could give her somewhere to stay…..for now?”

When the creeper’s hollow eyes widen, Xisuma steps back, hands raised. “No, we’re not going to have her here long-term! Astrid really wants to get back to…...wherever she’s from, and the sooner we get rid of her, the better, right?”

A pause, then a round of awkward glances. “X, didn’t you say there was a risk of hackers? This could be one of them.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t monitors wear those faceless black suits?” Iskall interjects, shaking his head. “Besides, she seems like a nice kid.”

“That’s what we said about Grian two seasons ago,” Cleo snarks, the hermit in question letting out a cry of protest. “Do we even know where she’s from? How did she get here?”

X rubs his head, his visor chafing against his face. “Probably the middle of the night? Maybe this morning? I didn’t hear anything until she had the crafting table, so I don’t know…..”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” an elderly voice grumbles, and the small circle turns towards Tinfoil Chef, who’s chewing on a roll of dried kelp with unusual relish. “Like Xisuma said, there’s nothing we can really do at the moment for this kid. Would it really hurt us so much to share the server with one more person?”

As the bunker goes quiet, Astrid steps forward, raising her hands. “Really, I don’t want to be a bother to anyone. I’ll stay on my part of the server and…..help everyone out when they need to?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan!” The words are out of his mouth before he can register what he’s saying and someone shoots him a strange look. “Welcome to Hermitcraft: Season 8!”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the rest of the hermits scramble out of the bunker, nearly trampling each other in the process, Doc lingers, watching from the sidelines. Something was off about this season, he could practically smell it. Xisuma losing his composure on day one, the hermits more divided than usual, and then the appearance of that Astrid girl. She’d shown up on top of the island at dawn, carrying wooden starter supplies, dressed in clothes clearly not meant for adventuring. Her appearance too was unsettling, hair completely devoid of melanin and those magenta eyes, swirling mysteriously, like those of an Ender dragon. 

Worst of all, the albino was nice. Disturbingly nice, and almost shy? No, shy wasn’t the right word. Sly, yet strangely wholesome. It wasn’t the playful mischievousness of a prankster, like Grian or Etho, this was something far more sinister. It was as if she knew exactly what to say to bend the hermits to her will, or was it?

Astrid had approached the creeper hybrid with unnerving confidence, allowing herself to stumble slightly over her apology, backing away awkwardly afterwards, and the experience had rattled him. How had she gone from hypnotic and mysterious to a normal human being in a matter of seconds? Why was she here? Nevertheless, the others seemed to enjoy her presence, and Doc understood, really. When she wasn’t toying with the emotions of his server mates with that strange aura of hers, Astrid was fun, maniacal, almost, a quality the mad scientist could appreciate. She was quick-witted, playful but most importantly, easy-going, something rarely seen amongst the hermits, everything he could ask for in a teammate.

So why couldn’t he trust her? 

Turning to Xisuma, who’s still equipped in last season’s glow squid suit, Doc gestures towards the remaining boat. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure! I’ll steer?”

Cramming his long legs into the miniscule space behind the admin, Doc grimaces as the two row away from spawn, heading towards a nearby coral reef. The creeper hybrid isn't a fan of the open seas and being sandwiched into a boat with Xisuma, the third tallest hermit on the server, isn't improving his experience.

“An island in the middle of nowhere?”

The End-born raises part of his visor, shooting him a lazy smile. “Hey, new season, new start, right? Besides, I see some mobs nearby.”

“You’d decimate an island’s native species for your own benefit?”

“That’s what humanoids do after all. Destroy habitats for their own use.”

Clambering out of the boat, Doc begins hacking at a nearby mushroom, hollowing out its foamy interior for a simple shelter. Meanwhile, Xisuma has plucked a few red mushrooms from the nearest inland lake, grinding them to a thin paste with the butt of his hoe. 

“Science experiments, X?”

“It’s for the mycelium, Doc. Found out about this the hard way last season when I broke out into rashes. I’m allergic.”

As if to emphasize his point, small, mushroom-shaped bumps began blossoming across his skin, and Doc hisses, scooping up some water with his palms.

“You idiot, X! Why didn’t you tell me you’re allergic? Now we’re going to spend the entire evening making the godforsaken paste because you’re breaking out into rashes!”

The admin clambered into the mushroom, undoing the patchwork on his suit. “No, you’re right, Doc. Let’s just fix up the rashes, pack up and find another island.”

Hissing angrily, Doc folded his bed back into a bundle, throwing his furnace and spare tools in as well. “I’m hoping you have another boat?”

“Well…….I saw some drowned wandering near the shore earlier?”

“Fantastic.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No, no, no! Not today, you damn-” Tango bursts into a string of colorful curses as he tries and fails to evade an enraged pillager captain, who growls menacingly in a foreign tongue before launching a volley of arrows towards them. 

Team ZIT, along with Grian, had found themselves a quaint little dark forest island, or at least until they’d ran into a pillager outpost at one end of the island and a woodland mansion at the other. Beside him, Zedaph tries to draw a crossbow, tripping over himself as the quartet tries and fails to evade the steadily advancing party of pillagers through the woods.

“They’re everywhere!” Impulse shrieks from ahead, beating apart the heavy brush with his stone sword. “Gee, we really should’ve come here after we got some diamond gear!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grian retorts, blocking an iron axe blade with a chunk of wood. “Whose idea was it to ‘follow the pillager patrol’ without setting up camp first?”

“Does it really matter?” Zedaph groans, throwing a leather tunic into the face of a disarmed pillager, who stumbles around as he tries to remove the garment. “Let’s just get off this island and never speak of this again-”

Just as they’ve made it to the clearing, high-pitched cackling trickles through the nearby forest and Impulse face-palms. 

“After all this, a totem of undying, three potatoes and two swords, we’ve got a witch?”

Apparently the mob must’ve taken offence to his comment, as four bottles soar through the air, each one honed towards a particular hermit. Tackling the others to the ground, Tango draws an iron axe, punting a potion of harming away from Zedaph, who gives him a weak smile.

“I owe you one, buddy.”

“Let’s not start slapping each other’s backs yet,” Grian mumbles, climbing out from underneath Impulse. “Anyone still have that golden apple?”

“Here,” Impulse pulls the precious item out of his pocket, its sparkling aura almost a light source in the evening light. “Wanna split it?”

“Might as well,” Tango extends his hand, motioning towards the enchanted fruit. “I’ll cut this up.”

Tango’s sharp nails make quick work of the fruit, and Zedaph helps him unpack their bundles. Night is coming swiftly and Impulse has never been so grateful for the warmth of a campfire and the smell of roast meat. Turning away from the food, Grian shoots him a tired smile. 

“Some start to the season, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Kind of a dumb move from all of us, really.”

“That was really weird, though,” Zedaph comments, ripping off a piece of bread. “Since when do pillagers actively hunt down players? I thought they only attacked when you raided their outposts!”

Tango’s red eyes flash scarlet, and the blond raises his hands, flopping sideways on the bed. “Sorry man, forgot about that part.”

“Still, we couldn’t have had the worst start to this season, right?” Grian continues, scooping the roast rabbit off the campfire. “We got iron gear, a bottle o’ enchanting, crossbows and a Notch apple!”

“Exactly!” Tango grins, showing off a row of startlingly white teeth. “Besides getting mowed down by illagers a day in, it was a decent start!”

Staring off in the direction of their boats, whose paddles were buried in the white sands, Tango scratches his head. “I wonder how Iskall, Mumbo and friends are holding up,” he mused. “Hope they’ve found something of value, at the very least.”

Scrolling through his communicator, Grian found Mumbo’s latest message. “Last thing I got from them was three hours ago, I think they were searching for a village to hunker down in?”

“No surprises. Anything else?”

Impulse nearly drops his piece of bread as his communicator beeps, an urgent buzzing against his wrist. “Update from Iskall: currently wrangling a rogue ravager, don’t know where it came from. Yeah, things could definitely be worse!”

“Damn, I’m glad we split up! I’d hate to be in their place right now,” Zedaph quips, fighting back a yawn.

“Yeah, yeah” Grian rolls his eyes, tunneling into the covers. “I just hope this season isn’t like this for everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I apologize in advance if I've butchered anyone's personality, I only watch Mumbo, Grian, Scar and Zedaph. As for the weird team dynamics, which we'll get to eventually, what did you think? Let me know down in the comments and I'll get back to you when I get the chance.


	7. The Edge Of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xisuma is a derp, Team ZIT and Grian make some questionable life choices and Doc is straight-up not vibing.

Xisuma wakes up the next morning to the sound of waves rushing above him, and the distinct sounds of someone sawing and hammering wood. Leaping lightly out of bed, he climbs the ladder leading out of the bunker swiftly, and is faced with…………...a girl?

“Argh- who the hell are you?”

The girl, whose hair is so bright it nearly blinds him, turns around from the item she’s crafting, a roughly hewn wooden pickaxe. Leaning against the crafting table, her magenta eyes arrange themself into an imposing stare, equal parts playful and dangerous.

“Who are you?”

Her voice is unlike anything he’s heard before, childish and light, yet there’s a hint of arrogant malice lying underneath. It’s the kind of voice you hear in nightmares, yet he can’t seem to turn away. Before he can stop himself, he’s opening his mouth, and the words are tumbling through against his own will.

“My name’s Xisuma. How the hell did you get into Hermitcraft?”

At the mention of the server, the girl - whose hair, he now realizes, is the brightest shade of white he’s ever seen, collapses, staring at her surroundings.

“Wait - that’s where I am? The last thing I remember was being forcibly ripped from…….somewhere, I can’t remember what it was.”

She edges away from him, picking up the crafting table, pulling out her communicator. “Look, I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude, this is clearly a private server. I’ll show myself out, and you’ll never see hide or hair-”

And just like that, as she’s turning away, flustered, lost and confused, that’s where the spell breaks. She’s just another lost traveller, probably unfamiliar with the Cyberverse, and there’s this pull inside of him, to grab her arm, tug her back, to have her stay.

“No, it’s, it’s okay! You can stay, well, at least until you can find your way back.”

She turns towards the admin, and he can practically feel her emotions seeping out, confusion, gratitude, an entire range of emotions playing across her face. 

“Are you sure? I don’t mean to be a burden, I can-”

“Look, why don’t you join my friends and I down in our bunker…...what’s your name?”

“Astrid.” The word erupts from her mouth, and suddenly, as if spoken into existence, a name tag appears above her head, faint and barely noticeable. It read “Astrid_builds”. 

“Yeah, why don’t you join us, Astrid? We can get you some supplies, somewhere to get started, at least until you can figure out how to get back.”

“Oh, that’d be fantastic!” She shoulders her pickaxe and climbs down the ladder, the crafting table all but forgotten.

As the pair settle back into the bunker, the noise nearby rouses a half-asleep Impulse, who pokes his head out of the covers. 

“Hey X, how’s the fresh- ah!”

Ren’s cry of surprise wakes up the entire bunker, and a chorus of complaining and questioning breaks out among the hermits. Sticking his head down from his own bunk, Doc frowns at his fellow hermits.

“Guys, cut it out. It’s 6:00 AM. Also who the hell is this?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Xisuma props his new friend in front of him awkwardly. “Doc, this is Astrid. Astrid, Doc.”

Turning aside to the redstoner, he shrugs his hands helplessly. “I heard something above the island this morning, and I found her making a pickaxe, trying to get off this island.”

“Wooden tools on an island with no trees?”

“Listen, I think Astrid has amnesia. She turned on me with survival instincts, and I was kind of hoping we could give her somewhere to stay…..for now?”

When the creeper’s hollow eyes widen, Xisuma steps back, hands raised. “No, we’re not going to have her here long-term! Astrid really wants to get back to…...wherever she’s from, and the sooner we get rid of her, the better, right?”

A pause, then a round of awkward glances. “X, didn’t you say there was a risk of hackers? This could be one of them.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t monitors wear those faceless black suits?” Iskall interjects, shaking his head. “Besides, she seems like a nice kid.”

“That’s what we said about Grian two seasons ago,” Cleo snarks, the hermit in question letting out a cry of protest. “Do we even know where she’s from? How did she get here?”

X rubs his head, his visor chafing against his face. “Probably the middle of the night? Maybe this morning? I didn’t hear anything until she had the crafting table, so I don’t know…..”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” an elderly voice grumbles, and the small circle turns towards Tinfoil Chef, who’s chewing on a roll of dried kelp with unusual relish. “Like Xisuma said, there’s nothing we can really do at the moment for this kid. Would it really hurt us so much to share the server with one more person?”

As the bunker goes quiet, Astrid steps forward, raising her hands. “Really, I don’t want to be a bother to anyone. I’ll stay on my part of the server and…..help everyone out when they need to?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan!” The words are out of his mouth before he can register what he’s saying and someone shoots him a strange look. “Welcome to Hermitcraft: Season 8!”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the rest of the hermits scramble out of the bunker, nearly trampling each other in the process, Doc lingers, watching from the sidelines. Something was off about this season, he could practically smell it. Xisuma losing his composure on day one, the hermits more divided than usual, and then the appearance of that Astrid girl. She’d shown up on top of the island at dawn, carrying wooden starter supplies, dressed in clothes clearly not meant for adventuring. Her appearance too was unsettling, hair completely devoid of melanin and those magenta eyes, swirling mysteriously, like those of an Ender dragon. 

Worst of all, the albino was nice. Disturbingly nice, and almost shy? No, shy wasn’t the right word. Sly, yet strangely wholesome. It wasn’t the playful mischievousness of a prankster, like Grian or Etho, this was something far more sinister. It was as if she knew exactly what to say to bend the hermits to her will, or was it?

Astrid had approached the creeper hybrid with unnerving confidence, allowing herself to stumble slightly over her apology, backing away awkwardly afterwards, and the experience had rattled him. How had she gone from hypnotic and mysterious to a normal human being in a matter of seconds? Why was she here? Nevertheless, the others seemed to enjoy her presence, and Doc understood, really. When she wasn’t toying with the emotions of his server mates with that strange aura of hers, Astrid was fun, maniacal, almost, a quality the mad scientist could appreciate. She was quick-witted, playful but most importantly, easy-going, something rarely seen amongst the hermits, everything he could ask for in a teammate.

So why couldn’t he trust her? 

Turning to Xisuma, who’s still equipped in last season’s glow squid suit, Doc gestures towards the remaining boat. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure! I’ll steer?”

Cramming his long legs into the miniscule space behind the admin, Doc grimaces as the two row away from spawn, heading towards a nearby coral reef. The creeper hybrid isn't a fan of the open seas and being sandwiched into a boat with Xisuma, the third tallest hermit on the server, isn't improving his experience.

“An island in the middle of nowhere?”

The End-born raises part of his visor, shooting him a lazy smile. “Hey, new season, new start, right? Besides, I see some mobs nearby.”

“You’d decimate an island’s native species for your own benefit?”

“That’s what humanoids do after all. Destroy habitats for their own use.”

Clambering out of the boat, Doc begins hacking at a nearby mushroom, hollowing out its foamy interior for a simple shelter. Meanwhile, Xisuma has plucked a few red mushrooms from the nearest inland lake, grinding them to a thin paste with the butt of his hoe. 

“Science experiments, X?”

“It’s for the mycelium, Doc. Found out about this the hard way last season when I broke out into rashes. I’m allergic.”

As if to emphasize his point, small, mushroom-shaped bumps began blossoming across his skin, and Doc hisses, scooping up some water with his palms.

“You idiot, X! Why didn’t you tell me you’re allergic? Now we’re going to spend the entire evening making the godforsaken paste because you’re breaking out into rashes!”

The admin clambered into the mushroom, undoing the patchwork on his suit. “No, you’re right, Doc. Let’s just fix up the rashes, pack up and find another island.”

Hissing angrily, Doc folded his bed back into a bundle, throwing his furnace and spare tools in as well. “I’m hoping you have another boat?”

“Well…….I saw some drowned wandering near the shore earlier?”

“Fantastic.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No, no, no! Not today, you damn-” Tango bursts into a string of colorful curses as he tries and fails to evade an enraged pillager captain, who growls menacingly in a foreign tongue before launching a volley of arrows towards them. 

Team ZIT, along with Grian, had found themselves a quaint little dark forest island, or at least until they’d ran into a pillager outpost at one end of the island and a woodland mansion at the other. Beside him, Zedaph tries to draw a crossbow, tripping over himself as the quartet tries and fails to evade the steadily advancing party of pillagers through the woods.

“They’re everywhere!” Impulse shrieks from ahead, beating apart the heavy brush with his stone sword. “Gee, we really should’ve come here after we got some diamond gear!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grian retorts, blocking an iron axe blade with a chunk of wood. “Whose idea was it to ‘follow the pillager patrol’ without setting up camp first?”

“Does it really matter?” Zedaph groans, throwing a leather tunic into the face of a disarmed pillager, who stumbles around as he tries to remove the garment. “Let’s just get off this island and never speak of this again-”

Just as they’ve made it to the clearing, high-pitched cackling trickles through the nearby forest and Impulse face-palms. 

“After all this, a totem of undying, three potatoes and two swords, we’ve got a witch?”

Apparently the mob must’ve taken offence to his comment, as four bottles soar through the air, each one honed towards a particular hermit. Tackling the others to the ground, Tango draws an iron axe, punting a potion of harming away from Zedaph, who gives him a weak smile.

“I owe you one, buddy.”

“Let’s not start slapping each other’s backs yet,” Grian mumbles, climbing out from underneath Impulse. “Anyone still have that golden apple?”

“Here,” Impulse pulls the precious item out of his pocket, its sparkling aura almost a light source in the evening light. “Wanna split it?”

“Might as well,” Tango extends his hand, motioning towards the enchanted fruit. “I’ll cut this up.”

Tango’s sharp nails make quick work of the fruit, and Zedaph helps him unpack their bundles. Night is coming swiftly and Impulse has never been so grateful for the warmth of a campfire and the smell of roast meat. Turning away from the food, Grian shoots him a tired smile. 

“Some start to the season, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Kind of a dumb move from all of us, really.”

“That was really weird, though,” Zedaph comments, ripping off a piece of bread. “Since when do pillagers actively hunt down players? I thought they only attacked when you raided their outposts!”

Tango’s red eyes flash scarlet, and the blond raises his hands, flopping sideways on the bed. “Sorry man, forgot about that part.”

“Still, we couldn’t have had the worst start to this season, right?” Grian continues, scooping the roast rabbit off the campfire. “We got iron gear, a bottle o’ enchanting, crossbows and a Notch apple!”

“Exactly!” Tango grins, showing off a row of startlingly white teeth. “Besides getting mowed down by illagers a day in, it was a decent start!”

Staring off in the direction of their boats, whose paddles were buried in the white sands, Tango scratches his head. “I wonder how Iskall, Mumbo and friends are holding up,” he mused. “Hope they’ve found something of value, at the very least.”

Scrolling through his communicator, Grian found Mumbo’s latest message. “Last thing I got from them was three hours ago, I think they were searching for a village to hunker down in?”

“No surprises. Anything else?”

Impulse nearly drops his piece of bread as his communicator beeps, an urgent buzzing against his wrist. “Update from Iskall: currently wrangling a rogue ravager, don’t know where it came from. Yeah, things could definitely be worse!”

“Damn, I’m glad we split up! I’d hate to be in their place right now,” Zedaph quips, fighting back a yawn.

“Yeah, yeah” Grian rolls his eyes, tunneling into the covers. “I just hope this season isn’t like this for everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I apologize in advance if I've butchered anyone's personality, I only watch Mumbo, Grian, Scar and Zedaph. As for the weird team dynamics, which we'll get to eventually, what did you think? Let me know down in the comments and I'll get back to you when I get the chance.


	8. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of last-minute filler I had in my folder. Enjoy!

As the sun sets over her little flower forest island, Astrid just can’t bring herself to sleep. She’s a perfectionist, after all, and the unfinished roof of her elven enclave is driving her mad. She opens her chest, rooting around for more birch log, and comes out with half a stack. Not exactly what she was looking for, but it’ll do. Towering up quickly, the albino sends a surge of electricity through her veins, teleporting her neatly to her bed and right into-

“False?”

“Hey kid! What’re you doing up so late?”

“I’m not a kid,” she huffs, sitting on top of her bed, eyeing the peak of her pavilion with her usual ferocity. “I’ll be twenty in a month, for gods’ sake!”

“Still pretty puny,” her fellow hermit comments, pulling up her goggles. “That’s a pretty tidy build for a starter base. How’d you get a hold of all the quartz?”

So someone’s noticed what she’s been doing. Astrid’s mind is racing, and her host’s words echo through her mind like a threat. 

_This is your moment, sister. Better not mess it up._

“Oh, I found a ruined portal,” she lies, putting what’s left of her wooden sword into a furnace. “Took me a few swerves away from the Endermen and some golden armor, but I managed to find a quarry.”

“Nice! That’s an…...unusually lucky start to the season. TFC and I went mining for diamonds and ran into three spider mineshaft.”

“Ouch.”

“I’d say we made it out pretty much in one piece, but I don’t think I can say the same for everyone else.”

False projects the chat history onto the blankets, where Astrid can see a string of messages from the hermits, each set riddled in typos and written at erratic intervals.

**_Docm77: Does anyone have a spare boat? X and I are stranded on a mooshroom island and his allergies are kicking in_ **

_Bdubs: Coordinates? Currently in a coral reef, I might be able to pop by_

**_Impulse_SV: SOS_ **

_Zombie_Cleo: ??_

**_Impulse_SV: Pillager island_ **

**_Impulse_SV: Too many mobs, please help_ **

_Zombie_Cleo: Oof_

_Zombie_Cleo: Would love to, but there’s seven skellies on my tail. Anyone dealing with a wild number of mobs this season?_

**_Welsknight: You’re not alone. Etho and I have a pod of dolphins_ **

_Ethoslab: Think they’re trying to hunt us_

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: :O_ **

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: What’d I miss?_ **

_Grian: Just the latest round of pillagers on my butt. And you?_

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: …………_ **

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: I’m so confused_ **

_Stress_monster: Aren’t we all? Is it just me or are there an awful lot of islands this season?_

**_Docm77: You’re not seeing things. X and I passed about three different islands, each with a different biome before we found somewhere to settle down._ **

_Grian: Huh_

_Grian: Remember what X said at the beginning of the season?_

**_Xisumavoid: We_ ** **are** **_in the beginning of the season, Grian_ **

**_Xisumavoid: But yeah? Maybe it’s just some system glitches, I wouldn’t worry too hard about it_ **

_Iskall85: Xisuma, you have literally broken out in rashes thanks to this_

_Iskall85: I’m thinking this might be worse than expected_

Turning away from the projection, Astrid scratches her head. “Does the Hermitcraft seed normally fragment like this?”

“Not to this level. We’ll have separate island biomes, but they’re usually massive. I’ve never heard of a dark forest and swamp island with a woodland mansion and outpost.” 

“Well, random generation can produce some pretty cool designs sometimes.” She forces the current into her eyes, gazing thoughtfully at False. “ Maybe this season’s seed is just unique?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I said, maybe it’s the random generation,” Astrid reiterates, pushing harder. False can’t know the truth.

The blonde’s eyes widen, her mind unconsciously fighting the projection, no doubt, but Astrid pushes harder. A moment later, False’s sapphire eyes dim, and she gives the younger woman a generic smile. 

“Yeah! We’ll survive on this weird seed, we’re professionals, after all!”

“Exactly. I’ve got total faith in you and the rest of the hermits.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to your starter base then! Make sure you get some sleep.”

Waving cheerily at her fellow hermit, False heads back towards her own camp, a simple tent made out of wool and birch planks. 

“Goodnight.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Astrid scans the perimeter for any other players. TFC is in his own bed, the eldest hermit snoring softly in his sleep. False is in her tent, humming a battle hymn, and there’s no other mobs except for the flock of mooblooms munching peacefully nearby. In a single, miniscule burst of sapphire light, Astrid teleports herself to the top of the roof, where she fixes a mistake she made earlier in no time. Flicking her fingers, she watches as the roof resets itself to her dimensions, the world stretching and dilating to accommodate her demands. 

These tiny flashes of power are addictive, the instantaneous change easing the general hassle and grind of the early game. Still, with her being surrounded by so many ordinary players, Astrid is limited in what she can do, a little spark here, a quick teleport there. What’s more, her essence as a monitor is causing more disruption than originally intended. Every interaction Astrid makes with the world, players included, is tearing open a new hole in the already burdened programming of this seed. Conjuring a crafting table with an invisible command is one thing, but interacting with the _admin_ of the server? That created a rift the size of the Grand Canyon in the server, breaking apart entire continents of code, disrupting spawn patterns. 

Either way, Astrid has two choices at this point: risk revealing herself through further interaction in the world, or to play as a regular player and- no, that won’t work either. No matter what she does, Astrid’s monitor status will be revealed at some point, and until then, she can only bide her time and milk as much out of the server as she can. She can’t sleep, or she’ll be undoing a command from earlier today, so Astrid opens her communicator and calls her host.

“Lauren?”

Her creator picks up in no time, fizzling into a life-sized projection of the woman herself, who’s curled up in an armchair. “Hello, Astrid. Did you get anything of value yet?”

“I met the admin. Does that count?”

The brunette groans, dragging her jaw down in a moping expression. “Of course not. Do you have his player ID? His homeworld history? His host’s name?”

“No-”

“Exactly. You’ve got nothing. At least you managed to blend in?”

“Yeah, I found two companions, False Symmetry and Tinfoil Chef. They’ve been pretty friendly, I might be able to milk something out of the latter. He’s pretty soft.”

“Now you’re talking. Do you know how long he’s been on the server for?”

“No?”

“Find out. This server is a goldmine of information, I hope you know where you’re chiseling.”

“Harsh much?”

“Listen up, you little hologram. I made you, I control you, I _am_ you. You have no rights.” Lauren’s olive eyes are smoldering, her anger perceptible through the communicator. “Just because you have a new appearance and a bit of personality does not mean you are to question my decisions. Get close to that admin and whoever is popular and get me their player IDs. Now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize, you useless piece of shit.”

“Lauren, please! I think they might suspect me!”

“Not my problem. You’re an intelligent piece of software, figure it out.”

The communicator goes dark and Astrid is left alone, staring into the darkness. Dispatching a nearby creeper, she forces herself into bed, writing a command as she does so.

**_Agent 13 has wiped all command history._ **

  
  



	9. Rewired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mumbo is a spoon and scares his friends, Team ZIT teases Grian, and Xisuma starts changing.

Mumbo wakes up the next morning feeling oddly stiff, as if there’s been cardboard stuffed into his joints. Shuffling out of the dingy villager hostel, he makes his way towards the well, where he stares into the blue depths.  The Mumbo in the water has ruby-tinted eyes and a set of detailed black- wait, those aren’t markings, the redstoner realizes, with a jolt of horror, but his own code. 

Stifling a scream, he runs towards the village church, where he flips hopelessly through the chest of cleric supplies, looking for something, anything, a villager-brand cream, potion of concealing, anything to hide the black lines bleeding from his face.  Finding a bit of redstone dust, Mumbo watches in astonishment as his hands, seemingly of their own accord, dump the scarlet substance into a cauldron, combine it with an iron ingot and an ender pearl. The concoction is mildly horrifying in smell, yet he can’t seem to resist as he grabs a bowl, scoops the mixture into it and brings it to his lips. 

The taste is not unpleasant, much to his surprise, surprisingly similar to the taste of chorus fruit, sickly sweet, with a sharp, bitter tang Mumbo recognizes as redstone. Gripping the edges of the cauldron, he leans over, preparing to vomit as he shudders, shakes and falls to the floor.

From this angle, he can see himself far more clearly in the mirror, and lo and behold, the squared lines of code are fading back into his skin, the scarlet tint of his eyes dimming ever so slightly.

“Oh my word.”

“Oh my word what?” Iskall’s voice trickles in through the door, and there’s a thudding of combat boots as the Swede enters the small church. “Mumbo, what happened to you, bro?”

Mumbo wants to open his mouth and respond, to say something, but his jaw has sealed itself shut, refusing to make a sound. Behind him, Iskall makes a strange noise, and there’s the beep of a communicator. 

“Mumbo? Talk to me, dude.”

Turning around, the redstoner gestures helplessly to his eyes, and his companion recoils, then steps forwards, pulling him into a hug. 

“Oh my gods. It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

Still mute, Mumbo leans into his friend’s embrace, clinging to him. Maybe, maybe if he hugs him tight enough, he’ll know how scared he is.

_ What’s happened to us, Iskall? I’m terrified!  _

“Sick,” he rasps, the sound sending a shock through his system. “Iskall, I feel sick.”

Patting him gently on the back, the Swede lets out a hollow laugh, the sound grounding Mumbo as he focuses on speech again. “You crazy bastard, I’d thought you’d gone mute!”

“Yeah, me too.” Mumbo leans out of the hug, curling in on himself. “I woke up this morning feeling all stiff and wired. Looking into the well, I saw that my eyes were tinted red and my code was showing, so I-”

“You came to the cleric’s and tried to brew yourself a homemade remedy?” Iskall comments, gesturing to the mess of cleric supplies scattered around the brewing stand. “That’s the best idea you could come up with?”

“No, Iskall, you don’t understand,” the redstoner splutters, trying to recollect his thoughts. “I didn’t choose to do it, it was like I didn’t have control over my own body! One moment, I was at the well, and the next thing I knew, I was in the church, trying to brew a potion for the exposed code.”

The Scandinavian goes quiet, then pokes at his cybernetic eye. “Mumbo, can I ask you something crazy?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you feel this crazy need to…..you know, to be near metal? Like you wake up one morning, and all you can think about is an iron block? You don’t want to eat, all you want to do is find that big hunk of iron, pick it up, and maybe do something with it?”

“Yeah, that’s me with redstone!” When Iskall raises a brow, he launches into a further explanation. “Well, it wasn’t as sudden as what you’re describing, but I remember craving the presence of redstone, after I went to the well. It was like I was magnetically attracted to it!”

He pauses, his eyes wandering to the custom redstone-powered cybernetic Iskall’s wearing. “Look, I’m feeling this inexplicable urge to pluck your fake eye out and extract the redstone. It’s freaky!”

At the Swede’s horrified expression, Mumbo puts down his hands and steps away. “Okay, okay, I’m working on it, your eye’s safe. Wait, what’s that in the chat?”

Leaning closer to the projection from Iskall’s communicator, Mumbo can make out Tango’s username blinking urgently.

**_Tango: Okay, just for the record, so I know I’m not going crazy, but is anyone else feeling an overwhelming need to eat redstone?_ **

_ Docm77: You did what? _

**_Tango: Well, it was just a lick, right? There was a bit of redstone in Grian’s bundle, so I took a pinch and swallowed it_ **

_ Docm77: Tango, my friend, can we make a deal? _

**_Tango: Okay_ **

**_Tango: What do you need?_ **

_ Docm77: We promise not to speak of this incident outside of this chat, on one condition _

**_Tango: Name it_ **

_ Docm77: Can you confirm that you’re not hearing voices in your head? _

**_Tango: What kind of question is that??_ **

_ Docm77: Just so I know I’m not going crazy _

**_Bdubs: Doc, when was the last time you slept?_ **

_ Docm77: ………………… _

_ Docm77: That is confidential information _

_ Docm77: Anyways, they kind of sound like you guys _

**_Bdubs: Well, why didn’t you say so?_ **

_ Tango: Yeah, you had us worried there for a sec! Well, we’re still worried! Promise you won’t break into our heads? _

**_Docm77: Well, when you put it like that, then there’s no guarantee_ **

_ Grian: OH MY GODS THERE’S WINGS GROWING OUT OF MY BACK HELP- _

**_False_symmetry: You too?_ **

_ Bdubs: What the hell is going on? Why’s everyone screaming in chat? _

**_Grian: I LITERALLY HAVE WINGS SPROUTING FROM MY BACK_ **

_ Docm77: Grian, calm down _

**_Grian: DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID?_ **

_ False_symmetry: Well, it’s quite the shock when u wake up with feathery blankets on your back _

“Apparently we’ve developed superpowers overnight?” Iskall explains, shaking his head at the chat. “Didn’t want to join in just yet, it’s more fun to just watch at this point.”

“Fair,” Mumbo chuckles, shaking his head at Grian’s part of the conversation. “There’s quite a bit of madness present at the moment.”

“Now what are you two going on about?” a female voice inquires, her accent unmistakeable. Iskall all but runs towards his girlfriend, slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

“Hallo, Stress! Didn’t expect to see you up this early!”

“Well, when I found you and Mumbo gone this morning, I knew something was up. Superpowers?”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Mumbo mutters, staring at his reflection in disgust. “I barely have control over my own body.”

“Oh,” the older hermit sighs, the potted plant in her hands wilting slightly. “So it’s not all sunshine and roses then?”

“Depends on which hermits you’re talking about. False and Grian have grown wings with varying results, and Doc has telekinesis now?”

“Just great,” Iskall mutters, rubbing his eye at the mention of wings. “As if this season couldn’t get any weirder.”

“Well, it’s not all bad,” Stress exclaims, dragging the two men out into a flower field. “This new nature magic of mine is going to be fantastic for terraforming!”

Waving her hand excitedly, the brunette squeals as a flowering tree sprouts from the centre of the field, its pastel pink blossoms exuding an intoxicating fragrance. “See? Vanilla cherry blossom trees, no resource packs required!”

When her friends’ scowls deepen, Stress dismantles the tree with a wave of her hand, playing with the potted sapling she’s been carrying around. “Okay, maybe this new magic business isn’t the same for everyone, but there’s got to be an upside to all of this! Iskall, love, you enjoy working with metal! Maybe you’ll come up with some new alloy!”

Turning to Mumbo, she waves her hand at a cluster of nearby poppies. “You too, Mumbo! You and Tango practically snort redstone dust, this could help ease the workload! It doesn’t have to be all bad!”

“Yeah, that makes sense, Stress. But what if I can’t get this new redstone business under control? What if I’m stuck on autopilot for the rest of the season, moving like a robot? We’re working with the unknown here, and I don’t know what it’s going to do to us!”

All the redstoner wants to do is fall to the ground like a platter of jello, his mind spinning as he sits cross-legged in the flower fields. Mumbo feels drained, chuffed to bits, he thinks to himself, as he fiddles with a half-wilted flower. Sure, Iskall and Stress are here, and he appreciates the support they give him, but it’s not the same. He’s lost his composure, his effortless ability to make sense of the most bizarre and inane situations, and it hurts in the strangest way. 

“We’re just as scared as you are, dude,” Iskall mutters, his breath catching slightly in his throat as he spits out his next sentence. “I mean, hermits with wings? That’s a recipe for disaster!”

“Telekinesis too, huh? Can’t wait where that’ll go.” Stress chimes in, and the trio share a laugh. “C’mon boys, I found an armorer villager on my way over, maybe we can pick up some gear!”

“Really now? Cartographers and armorers do look similar, and-”   
  


“Way to kill the mood, Iskall,” Mumbo chuckles, elbowing the shorter hermit in the ribs. “Anyone got some food?”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grian wakes up with a splitting pain between his shoulder blades, his hands clumsily searching for the root, until he finds a cluster of feathers- wait, feathers?  Sprouting from his shoulders like strange blooms are a pair of massive dove wings, beating rather vigorously behind him, as if they’re, dare he say it, angry at him?

“How the blazes did this happen?”

“Huh?” a sleepy voice mutters from across the campfire. It’s Tango, who’s somehow ended up sleeping sideways across the bed, his lanky limbs sprawled eagle-like. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, uh- nothing! Nothing to see here, mate, go back to sleep!” the builder stammers, the flapping of his wings sending a gust of wind across the remainder of Team ZIT. 

“Yeah, okay- wait, what was that?” Tango exclaims, clutching his blanket protectively. “Please tell me that was just the wind!”

“Would the wind have blown Zedaph awake?” Impulse grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Grian, this isn’t funny.”

“I’ll tell you what is funny,” the third member of their party drawled sleepily, pointing at Grian’s wings, which were curling closer and closer around the builder’s body. “Those big wings! Damn, we always knew you were a pesky bird!”

“Zed, it’s like five in the morning, maybe you’re just seeing things,” Tango mutters, stifling a yawn. “People don’t grow wings!”

“Well, uh, you see-”

“Oh my gods!” Impulse exclaims, eyes widening in shock. “You weren’t kidding! Guys, look at his sweater!”

Looking down at his clothes, dark-wash jeans, sneakers and a faded red sweater, Grian frowns at his friends. “Huh?”

“Dude, look at your back,” Zedaph comments, spinning his shorter companion around with remarkable strength. “Those wings ripped right through!”

Feeling around the feathered appendages, there’s a knot of mangled wool, twisted and splayed around his wings. Flexing the wings slightly, he’s greeted with twin jolts of pain for his troubles. “Ow!”

“Okay….that’s not normal,” Tango remarks, looking at Impulse, who’s sporting a pair of small, leathery wings. “For the love of redstone coffee, we gotta get in contact with the others.”

“Tango, no one but Doc, Xisuma and Mumbo are awake at this hour. Also, redstone coffee?”

“Yeah, the best drink ever! You should try it sometime, the flavour is something else!”

Rolling his eyes, Grian fires off a message in chat. “You know, I’m starting to think I’m not the only one who’s lost their mind this morning.”

“Well, you’re not alone with the wing problem,” Zedaph interjects, flashing the chat across. “Now you, Impulse and False can terrorize the server together.”

“How dare you!” the builder exclaims, clasping a hand to his chest in mock-offence. “I don’t- I don’t terrorize anybody! All’s fair in love and war, remember? Besides, it’s only wings. Doc’s out there with full-on telekinesis, who knows what could happen?”

“He’s got a point, you know,” Impulse joins in, gesturing at the chat. “Hey, Iskall and Mumbo are active! Shouldn’t you be pestering them instead?”

“You’re saying that as if I’ve got nothing better to do! It’s all in good fun! Remember what I said about love and war?”

“Yeah, seems to be a bit more of the former, if you ask me,” Tango smirks. “We’re not blind, you know.”

“Oh, come on! That was two seasons ago- just let me type!”

**_Grian: Welcome to the Premature Back Pains club then! Wings still hurt, but I think I’ll grow used to it_ **

_ False-symmetry: RIP to the rest of the winged, but I’m different, didn’t feel a thing _

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: …………._ **

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: Oh no, now there’s two of you_ **

_ Grian: Make that three. I’m not that bad, now, am I? _

**_Iskall85: Yes. Yes, you are that bad, Jungle Bandit_ **

_ Grian: Really, Iskall? Season 7 nicknames? _

**_Bdubs: At least you weren’t stuck with something stupid, like Bubbles_ **

_ False-symmetry: *cue laugh-track* _

_ False-symmetry: So, I’m assuming me, you and Impulse are the only members of the Winged then  _

**_Grian: Yeah Ig_ **

**_Grian: Hey Mumbo, Iskall, nothing weird happened to you guys and Stress, right?_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: ………………… _

**_Iskall85: He woke up with his code exposed and bloodshot eyes_ **

_ Grian: HE WHAT?? _

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: To be fair, I did fix it afterwards with a potion in the nearby church_ **

_ Iskall85: Which contained redstone, by the way, and turned him mute! _

**_Grian: That explains a lot_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: ? _

**_Grian: Tango woke up this morning muttering something about redstone coffee and the rest of Team ZIT panicked….._ **

_ Iskall85: Yippee _

**_Mumbo-Jumbo: So redstone drinks are becoming a new norm on Hermitcraft?_ **

_ Iskall85: Oh please no…… _

**_Grian: Depends on what it tastes like_ **

_ “Iskall85 has left the chat.” _

**_Grian: Rude_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Seriously?  _

**_Grian: Let me sulk in peace_ **

**_Grian: Wanna meet up?_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Okay _

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Coordinates? _

  
  


Looking up from his communicator, Grian turns to Team ZIT, who’re trying and failing to cook breakfast with a stick of dynamite. “Can somebody check our coordinates? Going to meet up with Mumbo, Iskall and Stress later.”

Tango shrugs, turning away from the campfire. “245, 67, 43. Why the urgency? Missing someone?”

“I- Tango, I talked to the rest of the Architechs, and they’ve got similar powers to you. I mean, Impulse and Zedaph can join us too, if they’d like, but it’d really do you some good if you spent time with someone with control over their powers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the redstoner replies, snorting out a cloud of redstone. “I’m not one to ruin an obvious bonding moment, though. Have your fun!”

“We’re best friends, nothing more. You know, I’d have expected Hermitcraft’s resident clowns to come up with a better running joke than this, three seasons later, you know.”

Turning back to his communicator, he fires off a brief message. 

**_Grian: Nah, it’s alright, mate, I’ll come find you. Pillager island over here is no slice of paradise_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Okay then _

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Must’ve been some adventure if you want to meet up so quickly _

**_Grian: You don’t know the worst of it. Where are u?_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: 418, 62, 23 _

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: See you in a bit _

“You’re gonna have to come clean at some point, G,” Impulse joins in, setting off a tiny explosion with a snap of his fingers. “It’ll be good for the two of you.”

Releasing an angry huff, Grian grabs a piece of steak off the campfire, ripping off the edge. “Would you guys let it go? It’s not like this whole problem is going anywhere.”

“He’s right, guys,” Zedaph sighs, stuffing a bit of chicken between his baguette. “Knock it off. Besides, we’ve got more urgent issues on hand.”

“You got hit with the superpower plague too?” Impulse exclaims, squinting at his friend. “What kind of weird mojo do you have going on?”

“Uh, I don’t really know, guys. I kind of figured, since you guys have this whole supernatural business, it’s contagious?”

“It could be. Has anyone heard anything from the new kid?” Tango asks around a mouthful of chicken. 

“Not really. Haven’t seen much of her since the start of the season.” Zedaph muses, staring into the clouds. “I wonder how she’s holding up.”

“Well, she seems like a survivalist, at least from what I’ve seen of her,” Tango adds, packing his share of the equipment into a bundle. “Astrid’s gonna be fine.”

“Besides,” Grian continues, dragging his boat from a mess of kelp, “she’s camping with TFC and False, right? That’s about as secure as it gets!”

“Yeah, you guys are right,” Zedaph sighs, pushing his own boat into the water. “I just can’t help but worry for the kid. She’s so tiny!”

“Zed, since when has size mattered in Hermitcraft?” Impulse chuckles, readjusting his oars. “Look at me and Grian!”

As Team ZIT continues to banter lightly with each other, Grian feels strangely out of place. Sure, he’s friends with all the hermits, but it never goes much deeper than an annual prank war or a temporary partnership. Not since season 6, with Iskall and Mumbo-

_ Stop it, Grian. He’s moving on to greater and better things, and so are you. Besides, you’ve tested the waters, and you’ve gotten nothing for your troubles. _

Or has he? Mumbo’s agreed to meet up with him, but then again, the two of them always manage to run into each other at the start of the season, one way or another. It shouldn’t be too awkward, right?  Oh wait, Iskall and Stress will be there too. He loves the dynamic duo, really, the four of them have been good friends since he joined Hermitcraft. Still, three seasons later, things are different between them. Scar joined their little “jungle gang” last season, Iskall and Stress became an item, and things have grown…..awkward between Grian and Mumbo. 

Is it because he’s such an obvious flirt? The secret hobbit hole tunnel, the mayoral campaign, the countless pranks and collabs the builder pulls, not to mention their two robot sons, who they still share custody of. It was all in good fun during season six, but by season seven, the antics were less mischief and more, well, nudging towards something else.

Mumbo’s never going to notice, anyways. His best friend, for lack of a better word, is a complete spoon, focusing more on his latest redstone contraption than his friendships, and most things, really.  Then why does Grian continue to make a fool of himself in front of him? Why the pranks, the endless ribbing and pestering that makes up their strange, almost one-sided friendship? Why can’t he let go?

“Grian?” Impulse’s voice snaps him back to reality, the explosives expert paddling beside him. “You zoned out there for a second, buddy, you doing okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he dead-pans, propelling himself forward with a firm shove of the oars. “Just thinking back to season 7. Were things always this weird?”

“I guess,” Zedaph’s voice wafts over, the water crashing clumsily as he steers his boat around. “We just never saw it that way.”

“Hermitcraft in a nutshell.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


As his communicator buzzes against his wrist for the twelfth time this morning, Xisuma doesn’t bother answering, simply rapping the device with a wooden hoe. Doc looks up from the rabbit stew he’s meticulously preparing, a strange drink in hand. 

“Group chat still going strong?”

“Naturally. There’s all kinds of conversations on there, False sprouted wings, last time I checked.”

“Wings?” Keralis murmurs, rubbing his oversized eyes as he stumbles out of bed. “Shishwammy, what happened?”

“Half the server’s gone and developed superpowers from some freak accident,” Doc groans, turning back to the strange paste he’s mixing. “Xisuma, has the swelling stopped?”

Rolling back his sleeves, the admin checks the points of exposure from yesterday’s mycelium incident. “It’s gone down quite a bit, but they’re glowing?”

“What?” Bdubs exclaims, dashing over to his friend’s side. “Hold on, what happened to you? How did you sprout wings?”

Feeling around the back of his head, Xisuma’s hands find purchase on a fistful of feathery skin. “How did this happen?”

“Ah, hold on, Shishwammy,” Keralis chimes in, scrolling through the chat. “I think-a there’s a few hermits trying to meet up, to help with their powers. Maybe we should a-join in?”

**_Xisuma_void: Update; looks like I now have wings too?_ **

_ Vintage-Beef: Out of all the body horror updates I did not see that one coming _

**_Iskall85: Does it hurt?_ **

_ Xisuma_void: I feel fine, actually, although that might change _

_ Xisuma_void: Has anyone else found anything weird about themselves? _

**_Impulse-SV: Apparently I can generate explosions with my hands? Learned that the hard way when I blew up a pickaxe_ **

_ Zombie-Cleo: How does that even happen? _

_ Zombie-Cleo: And yes, I’m currently body-horror free, X. Can’t say the same for Joe and Wels _

**_Xisuma_void: What happened?_ **

_ Zombie-Cleo: Joe woke up screaming this morning, there’s like three creepers snuggled against him right now. They haven’t attacked or anything, so that’s good. Wels is winged, like Grian and False. _

**_Stress-monster_101: Ooh, maybe Wels would want to meet up with Mumbo, Iskall and I? Grian and Team ZIT are already coming, the more the merrier!_ **

_ Zombie-Cleo: Thanks Stress! I thought you were power-free? _

**_Stress-monster_101: Nah, I just had a plant beside my bed in the village_ **

**_Stress-monster_101: It could be much worse tho, look at poor Mumbo_ **

Logging out briefly, Xisuma turned to his companions. “Apparently, there’s degrees of severity with this whole superpower growth thing. Doc, how much can you do with the mind-reading?”

“I haven’t tried much, it just picks up on its own,” the creeper-hybrid confesses, gesturing towards the admin. “For example, I can somewhat sense that you’re nervous, X, but I’m not getting much more.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bdubs comments, tying his bandana around his head. “So it comes as more of an instinct?”

“Pretty much. You’re unaffected, right Bdubs?”

“For now,” the builder responds, grabbing a bowl of rabbit stew. “I think some of these powers take longer to kick in.”

“Either way, you three should-a, meet up with somebody. I saw Grian and Mumbo talking about meeting somewhere, maybe we should do the same?” Keralis adds, taking a sip of water. 

**_Xisuma_void: Okay, so that makes nine of us_ **

**_Xisuma_void: Beef, did you say you had problems?_ **

_ Vintage-Beef: I can understand what the mobs are saying, but for the most part, I’m okay _

_ Vintage-Beef: Anybody want to meet up? I don’t know about you guys, but these new powers are kinda scaring me _

**_Zedaph: I’ll join you_ **

**_Zedaph: Talk to the animals club unite!_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: So are we all going to show up at the same location? _

**_Ethos-lab: *Server-lag has entered the chat*_ **

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Whoops, my bad _

_ Mumbo-Jumbo: Spoon moment _

**_Grian: Every day is a spoon moment for you, mate_ **

**_Grian: Stuck in the trees, might take a while_ **

_ Iskall85: How? _

**_Grian: Don’t ask_ **

_ Keralis_1: *Grian was squished too much* _

**_Grian: Very funny_ **

_ Keralis_1: Anyways, does anyone else want to join us? _

**_Ethos-lab: I’ll bite, head’s starting to hurt_ **

**_Ethos-lab: Coordinates?_ **

_ Astrid-builds: I heard something about the Winged? _

**_Grian: :D_ **

**_Grian: Coordinates are 418, 62, 23_ **

_ Astrid-builds: Nice! I’ll see you there, I grew wings too _

_ Astrid-builds: TFC is okay btw Xisuma, he’s got some kind of ore manipulation thing? _

**_Xisuma_void: Nothing harmful, then_ **

**_Xisuma_void: Stay safe guys_ **

Logging out of the chat, Xisuma turns to Doc, who’s already packed, sword in hand. “I’m going after Mumbo and friends. You guys are welcome to join if you’d like.”

“Doc, aren’t you taking this a bit too seriously?” Bdubs questions, tossing his hands up. “Astrid’s afflicted as well, it’s completely natural for her to seek out the rest of the winged!” 

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Bdubs. Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that both people who she’s camping with have woken up with superpowers?”

“I mean-”

“That’s what I’m saying, Bdubs. Just because this Astrid looks harmless doesn’t mean she is.”

Dragging his own boat from the sand dunes, Doc is gone in a flash of tattered clothes, paddling off into the distance. Moments later, Bdubs is rowing after him, his own bundle shoved clumsily between his legs. 

“Bdubs, where are you going? I can prove to both of you that Astrid’s perfectly fine-”

“Oh no, I’m not going after Astrid. I’m just making sure Doc doesn’t do anything reckless. Grian’s going to be there, after all.”

_ That sounds more like the Bdubs I know, _ Xisuma muses, polishing his helmet.  _ Sound logic and unshakeable determination. Besides, it’s not like Grian and Doc are the closest of chums. _

Like the relationship between most of the hermits, Grian and Doc were a tersely balanced pair, walking the fine line between friendship and rivalry. Sure, they had their moments together, like the Turf War and were definitely a powerhouse when combined, but for the most part, the two barely got along.  Now, drawn together by the urge to confront their newest member, these two polar opposites were going to be dragged into the same sphere, and it wouldn’t be pretty.  __

The sensible part of Xisuma’s brain was screaming for him to go mining, upgrading his gear ahead of time, yet there was this irresistible pull to join Doc and Bdubs, to forget everything and start fresh.

“Shishwammy?” Keralis’ voice echoes, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You okay? You a-zoned out for a while there, I was getting worried!”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Keralis,” Xisuma lies, which isn’t necessarily true. He hasn’t suffered any injuries, yet lying to his best friend still twists the growing knot in his stomach. “Just a lot to think about, now that season 8’s brought its newest surprise upon us. Thank you for checking in, though.”

“Hey, what are best friends for?” the wide-eyed builder replies, giving him a gentle pat on the back. “Come on, I think I saw an abandoned mineshaft on our way over.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think of this chapter? I don't really watch Xisuma or Doc on a regular basis, so I'm mostly going off of the interactions I've seen in fan-compilations and collabs. Anyways, please do let me know what you guys think down in the comments!


	10. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition dump go brrrrrrrrr..........kinda? Not really sure

As Astrid examines the chat from her communicator, she can feel the feathers of her newly created wings curling against her. The steadily increasing number of frantic conversations among the hermits do nothing to ease her nerves, the constant pinging an unwelcome irritation to her highly sensitive hearing. 

False and TFC had left the campground a few hours ago, rowing a few thousand chunks away to a mining hotspot half the server seemed to know about. They’d offered to take Astrid with them, but she’d politely declined, stating that she was more focused on finishing her starter base. 

In reality, she’d been, rather foolishly, using her monitor abilities to will a desert temple into existence, which had caused a few extra hiccups in her plan to mutate the hermits’ code.

The night before, Astrid had stayed awake all night, painstakingly, gently prying apart the code of each player, programming in cognitive and physical enhancements based upon personality. In addition, she’d added a slight modification to her own code, of course, creating a false mutation in order to blend in. The next morning, much to her delight, the hermits had flooded the chats with rather graphic descriptions of their newfound abilities, drawing them closer to one another.

What she hadn’t anticipated was the utter lack of preparation the average avatar body had when dealing with enhanced abilities. Many of the hermits, including a particularly chaotic group known as the ZIT Team, had found themselves dealing with sporadic bursts of power and general loss of executive functions, in the case of one Mumbo Jumbo. 

With the hermits now divided from their usual formations, this was the perfect opportunity for Astrid to latch onto a particular faction- except it wasn’t. The technicians of the group, which included the server’s surprisingly naive admin, Xisuma, were a gold mine of information, albeit one laden in traps. Upon her arrival into the server, she’d been able to use a light mental thrall to render the admin docile, but the interaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

One of the more aggressive characters on the server, a hulking creeper-hybrid known as Doc, had taken immediate notice of the foreign entity, raising suspicions about her true identity, which Astrid had barely managed to shut down with a bit of theatrical flair. Although she still planned on taking out Xisuma first, it was clear that she wasn’t going to get anywhere close to him with his ever-increasing honor guard of Doc, Bdubs and Keralis. Thankfully for Astrid, there were plenty of other, easier targets she could make contact with.

Grian had stood out like a sore thumb from the minute she’d met him, even if she’d only seen him while he was sleeping. With his never-ending chatter, teasing, and general prattling about anything, not to mention his wide-eyed, all-too-trusting expression, he was Astrid’s second option for exploitation if she failed to get through to Xisuma.

It wasn’t just the strawberry blond’s dramatic, and often, shamelessly arrogant personality that drew her to him. Unlike many of the other hermits, such as Zombie Cleo, Welsknight, and GoodTimesWithScar, Grian lacks a ring of overprotective, fiercely protective teammates. Whether that’s because the man is a natural leader, or because his charmingly abrasive personality repels most sources of conflict, Astrid can’t tell. Nevertheless, he’s strangely vulnerable at the moment, and she intends to take full advantage. 

His friends won’t be much of a problem, Stress and Iskall are far too trusting to suspect her, and Mumbo is, as his best friend calls him, a spoon, forever buried in his own contraptions and ideas. What she does fear, however, is being repelled by Grian himself. After numerous infiltrations over the years, she’s learned not to underestimate the innocent, no matter how harmless they may appear. In order to gain his trust, Astrid needs to be non-intrusive, a silent tail-gater. She’ll play the subordinate, whispering in his ears until any trace of doubt melts away like butter, then she can lay her traps.

She just needs to shake herself from the overprotective grasp of False and TFC, find a new root. Sure, Astrid’s starter base may already be in place, but with a bit of code-mutation, she’ll be able to produce an exact replica the minute she’s alone. 

Marking out the perimeter of the pagoda, she snaps her fingers, and the block sequence falls neatly onto her forearm, where her clipboard would normally be stowed. Satisfied, she packs away her unused bed, crafting table and furnace, loading them into the small rowboat she’s crafted.

Astrid’s going to miss this little island, really. TFC had messaged her earlier, saying that he was going to find a new location for his base, and False left a note saying she was joining a group of friends elsewhere on the server. Just as she’s about to row off into the ocean, her communicator beeps, displaying a simple message.

_ Grian: Hey Astrid, where are you? Hope you didn’t get lost _

**_Astrid_builds: I’m okay, just packing up camp_ **

_ Grian: Oh _

_ Grian: Thought you were settling in the flower forest lol _

_ Grian: Want to join me? _

Excellent. Grian’s made the offer with minimal hinting, just what she needs. She continues to type, a smile spreading across her face.

**_Astrid_builds: Depends on how far your base is, but okay_ **

_ Grian: :) _

_ Grian: See you soon _

An hour or so later, Astrid arrives at the plains island where they’ve agreed to meet, her knees and elbows aching from the journey. Snapping her fingers, she transforms the blue turtleneck she’s wearing into a lighter shirt, pulling the hood of her travelling cloak over her face.  From her position in the trees, she can see a group of players, huddled together with a small leather pouch between them, exchanging money, perhaps. A closer look with the activation of enhanced vision reveals a village in the distance, and a rough outline of each character. 

The first player is a male, nondescript in appearance except for a rather large cybernetic eye, and a climbing harness, who appears to be talking to a rather irate villager. Could be anybody, really, many of the male hermits looked alike.  The second is female, sporting a bright pink windbreaker and a floral eye tattoo, carrying a potted plant in one hand. Stressmonster, or Stress, she remembered something about three hermits camping together.

The last player towers over his two companions, quite lanky, poorly dressed for the wilderness in a bespoke suit and an impeccably waxed mustache. Mumbo Jumbo, one of the youngest members of the server, surprisingly, and tallest hermit. He carries himself rather awkwardly for a man of his size, perpetually slouched and fidgeting. 

Making her way towards Mumbo, Stress and the other hermit, Astrid whistles idly to herself as she walks into the village, the long-nosed residents offering a simple “hrmm” in acknowledgement of her presence. 

“Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long, got caught in a sandbank on my way over here.”

Stress is the first to respond, waving her off with her free hand. “Oh no worries, love, happens to the best of us! How’re you feeling, any soreness in your back?”

“The wings are feeling a bit stiff, but overall, nothing serious,” she lies, stretching out the feathered appendages, letting them ruffle in the afternoon wind. “How about you guys?”

Mumbo turns a brilliant shade of red, almost as bright as his tie, and Iskall splutters slightly before pulling out a single sparkling ingot of foreign material. “I played around with my powers for a while, and I managed to come up with this…..metallic goo. I call it iskallium!”

“He’s been going on about this ‘iskallium’ for the entire afternoon,” Mumbo chuckles, rolling his eyes at his friend. “You’d have thought he found the cure to cancer or something.”

“Oh hush, Mumbo,” the Swede snorts. “You’re just jealous because you can’t control your…..abilities, or whatever it is you do with redstone.”

Raising a brow, Astrid turns to the taller hermit. “Redstone abilities? What does he mean?”

“It’s kind of difficult to explain, but when you boil it down to the basics, it’s quite simple, really,” the redstoner explains, tracing a pattern across his palm with the scarlet powder. “So long as I carry a bottle of redstone dust on me, I can control and create any redstone contraption.”

He places down a crafting table, a block of iron, a handful of redstone and some string. Tracing a simple pattern across the surface, the three watch in astonishment as the materials rearrange themselves into a detector, the object appearing in barely a minute as they twirl into place. 

“Whoa.”

“Pretty cool, isn’t it? Imagine just how much time this’ll save me!”

Iskall responds to his friend’s amazement with a round of chuckles, and before long, the four of them are sharing their various abilities, at least until-

“Argh!” 

Staring into the bushes, Stress raises a brow. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Who else squeals like a six-year-old when they stumble over the smallest thing?” Iskall dead-pans, shaking his head in the direction of the grumbling. “How was the flight?”

“Oh, nothing special, you know, just narrowly avoiding a few jungle trees on my way over, ignoring the ever-present ache in my shoulders the whole time. Just another day on Hermitcraft!” 

It’s Grian, covered from head to toe in scrapes and slowly blooming bruises, brushing twigs out of his sweater as he clambers through, dragging a rucksack behind him. Mumbo all but sprints towards his best friend, helping him up as he nearly collapses onto the ground. 

“Grian, you total moron. What on earth possessed you to try and fly when you knew your wings couldn’t handle it?”

The smaller hermit gives him a weary smile, a vibrant blush spreading from ear to ear. “Now, Mumbo, if I told you, you’d get mad at me.”

“Someone always ends up being mad at you either way,” the mustached hermit murmurs, scooping up his protesting friend. “What happened?” 

“I was rowing across the ocean with Team ZIT, when halfway through, I felt this urge to jump out of the boat and fly.”

When his response elicits the further attention of his fellow hermits, Grian lets out a bitter laugh, equal parts maniacal and dry. 

“See what I mean? Even Iskall thinks it’s crazy!”

“May I interrupt?” Astrid interjects, raising her hand gently, injecting a bit of the thrall into her tone. “I’m not sure if this means anything to you, Grian, but I had the same problem this morning. Maybe it has something to do with our wings.” 

To emphasize her point, she subtly ruffles her own wings, letting them carry her a few inches off the ground. The glamour works surprisingly well, mesmerizing an incoming group of hermits. 

“Whoa, what’s going on?” a voice Astrid doesn’t recognize cuts in, filled with a nasally, tough gravel. “What did she just do?”

“Tango, it’s okay,” Grian responds, struggling to stand upright. “Astrid doesn’t know how to control her wings either, it was an accident.”

“So are these things like glass panes then?” another male voice, richer and smoother than the other comments, walking towards them. “I got blinded for a second there, gonna have to keep my distance from the Winged then.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Grian splutters, his now-scarlet wings rising defensively around him. “Some of us can’t even use them yet!”

The hermit called Impulse glances over his shoulders, where a pair of pitifully small bat wings have sprouted between his shoulder blades. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Why are mine so small? And why do you two, the shortest people on the server, both have wings twelve feet long?”

“Oh that’s not our fault,” Astrid smirks, raising her iridescent wings a few inches above her head. “I guess you could say some of us were born different.”

The sarcastic jibe produces mixed results among the hermits present, an exasperated smile from False, confused head-shaking from Mumbo and another blond she doesn’t recognize and maniacal laughter from Iskall, Stress and Grian. Impulse just groans, glancing nervously between the two shortest hermits. 

“Nice, guys, real nice. You know what, I don’t feel so safe anymore! What are you, kid, Grian 2.0?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Mumbo chuckles from a corner, hiding his grin behind a fist. “I already have enough trouble managing one of him, who knows what two Grians could whip up? Hermitcraft: Endgame, anybody?”

“That’s harsh, Mumbo,” his best friend complains, pouting childishly. “I’ve changed for the better, I’ve been nothing but business for the last season!”

“Yeah, the business of pocketing everyone’s diamonds, courtesy of Barge and Co.”

“Also the business of war,” Iskall joins in, ruffling the shorter’s hair. “Don’t think we haven’t forgotten about the Mycelium Resistance!”

“New season, new me,” Grian adds dismissively. “I’m thinking Pacific failed because you two were no match for me!”

As the three continue to banter playfully with each other, Astrid turns to the remainder of the hermits, who’ve segmented off into their usual formations. “So, you guys came here to control your powers, right?”

“Yeah,” a man with silvery hair and mismatched eyes replies, struggling with an iron ingot in his hands. “Still can’t get the hang of this metal magic.”

False joins in, playing idly with the hilt of her sword. “We were kind of hoping you’d help out, since you seem to be the only one who has any sense of control over their powers.”

“Exactly,” a deep baritone responds, and Astrid curses her lack of preparation. “Why don’t you show us what you can do? Hack into our heads, set someone on fire?”

“I-”

Doc has been nothing but hostile towards her since her arrival, and his passive-aggressive attitude makes him near-impossible to thrall. She’d been counting on the creeper-hybrid being absent from the group of hermits congregating here, but-

Astrid breaks out of her train of thought, focusing on the task in front of her.

_ They have no idea what I really am. All I have to do is placate them. Easy enough. _

“Do you hear yourself, Doc?” another voice, louder and brasher interrupts. “Astrid woke up with wings this morning, just like the rest of us. Why are you pinning the blame on her?”

“Really, Bdubs? I thought you were smarter than this! In fact, haven’t any of you figured it out yet? The mysterious arrival in the dead of night, irregular seed patterns, constant server lag-”

“She’s showing clear signs of amnesia!” Mumbo interrupts, shaking his head. “Doc, we get that you’re worried about the server, and yes, this season got off to an unusual start-”

“Unusual start?" a South African accent interjects. "We’ve been hacked, and none of you are taking any action-”

“No action?” Grian scoffs, gesturing towards the admin, who backs away in concern. “No action, you say! Do X’s hours of excess preparation, coordination and-”

“For the love of Notch, would everyone please stop yelling?” 

Xisuma steps into the centre of the misshapen ring of hermits, an expression of righteous fury blossoming across his face. 

“Both sides have points, but there’s been no physical damage done to anyone on this server.”

When a few murmurs break out about the mutations, the admin continues, his voice carrying steadily around the clearing. 

“We can live with the weird generation. Yes, it was unexpected, but we’re a creative group. There’s no reason why we can’t adapt this new terrain to our advantage.”

“As for our newest member, however long she may be with us for,” he gestures at Astrid. “I expect everyone here to treat her with the same respect and dignity as you would everyone else. Just because she’s arrived in the midst of one of the craziest incidents of Hermitcraft history does not mean the blame should be pinned on her.”

There’s a soft cry of ‘yeah!’ from somewhere, and Astrid feels her spirits lift ever so slightly. 

“Anyways, we’ve all agreed to come here so we can get a better grasp on our powers, and I think I’ve held your attention for long enough. I guess everyone can disperse?”

As if on cue, most of the winged hermits gravitate towards her and Grian, arranging themselves into a new group. 

“So, back pains, anyone?” someone comments, and there’s a chorus of responses. 

“Like nothing I’d ever felt!”

“Not really, just kinda normal.”

“Who cares? When are we going to learn to fly?”

At the mention of flight, the remainder of the hermits break out into playful arguing, where snatches of unfamiliar events flutter past. Turning to the older hermit, Astrid puts up her hands.

“I give up. You’re clearly the flying expert here, I’ll let you take the spotlight, Grian.”

“Hey, hey, hey! I’m the one here covered in bruises and you’re trying to pass the problem onto me?”

“Got a better idea?”

“Uh…...jump off a cliff and see what happens?”

“Now I think I get how three people can share one brain cell.”

Throwing an axe into a nearby tree, she watches as the stone blade produces a satisfying ‘thunk’. As expected, the noise startles the chattering hermits, who stare in the direction of the axe. 

“Okay, none of us are experts with natural wings because we aren’t birds, but I’ll try my best to get us off the ground. Why don’t we start with trying to move the wings?”

**Author's Note:**

> *leans back in chair*
> 
> Well, that's the first chapter done; took longer than expected! More plot coming soon, I promise we'll get to everyone, or try to, at least.


End file.
